Snips and Scars
by Dr. Kineil D. Wicks
Summary: In which Harry Potter and his friends discover a strange creature in the Potions lab and decide to take care of it. Or it takes care of them—either way, the Weasley twins are in agreement that this isn't the sort of thing they would have gotten away with had Severus Snape still been Potions master.
1. In Which Harry Finds Something Strange

**So we're having another Harry Potter weekend, and it reminded me that I have this fic I've been working on, so….**

**Fanfiction has always been a double-edged sword for me—I first got into it because I wanted more ****_Yu-Gi-Oh!_**** stories to read, and I got that but also unfortunately got to learn about yaoi as well. With the possible exception of ****_Don't Starve_****, I have to do a lot of hunting to find the sort of stories I like to read in whatever fandom I look in. Eventually, it got me to branch out to writing for fandoms I like but usually wouldn't be interested in writing for, because that way I can write the sort of stories I want to read. Pokémon, Jurassic Park…and now Harry Potter.**

**This was a little idea that started from seeing a caricature of Snape in a comic called ****_My Life as a Background Slytherin_**** and me starting to reread the Harry Potter series—I love some of what fanfiction has done, can't get enough of Harry/Snape mentorships and all that…but sometimes it feels like it goes too far and just doesn't scratch that reading itch. So, let's go over what this story will ****_not_**** have:**

**Smart!Harry/Dark!Harry/Manipulative!Harry/Harry with any exclamation points**

**Similarly, no manipulative/evil Dumbledore**

**No bashing of any characters—except Umbridge, but she's special**

**No Draco in leather pants—it wasn't just the scene on the train, Harry had formed an opinion of Malfoy at Diagon Alley as well**

**No evil Ron—yes, he's a git, but he's not the horrible person that the fandom seems to make him out to be**

**No going into gruesome detail about the Dursley's abuse—I don't want to write that sort of thing, so no**

**Also related to the hot potato—none of this whole ****_going into dark evil topics that weren't even mentioned in the source material_****. I have read ****_so many_**** fanfictions that were ****_so good_**** until they touched on things from that spectrum, and then I 'x' out so fast it'd make your head spin. It's against my beliefs, so we're never going to have that.**

**We're going to be puttering along with this story on an irregular basis (dissertation is killing me, sorry), and if it's not covered in the story, then it happened as it did in the source material. We are, of course, going to be dealing in an AU, so things will start to splinter off the further we go. In addition, we're going to be blowing up Professor Snape in the first chapter.**

**If at any time you didn't leave the story in abject frustration—I hope you enjoy this story, and hopefully it fills the gap for you like it did for me. :)**

**So for this first chapter: I'm American, it's the Sorcerer's Stone for me (sorry).**

**Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling**

Trevor Carson, seventh-year Hufflepuff, regretted getting an O in his Potions OWL.

Specifically, he regretted it because the intensity of the class had been cranked up to eleven, and the danger of the potions being brewed even more so. He had been forced to vanish more than one of his potions before things went too far and it exploded on them all—something that at this stage would have been catastrophic. But that usually ended with him getting an unsatisfactory grade on his work, and even trying to study on the side wasn't helping. It was honestly starting to wear him thin, and worn-thin students are just as likely to make mistakes as first-years.

Today, they were brewing two potions at once, to simulate the sort of hectic situations they might find themselves in, such as a Healer position, and he was forced to admit that at some point things had gone terribly wrong in his brewing, and he had no idea how to fix them. Nothing was working, and at this point all he really had was two terribly vicious hissing, spitting, bubbling cauldrons, busily splashing into each other and their neighbors despite their distance. Regrettably, he was going to have to start again.

And soon—the cauldrons were approaching something imitating critical mass. Tug his wand out—catch the handle on a thread—rip it free as Professor Snape surged forward, wand at the ready with the exact same intent—

Trevor Carson would forever go down in Hogwarts history as the one who blew up Severus Snape.

* * *

Everyone involved in the aftermath agreed that the poor distraught Hufflepuff was not to blame, it was an accident, everyone's consulted memories attested to that.

And unfortunately, there was nothing left of the Potions master but scraps of his robe. All the teachers agreed that it was a shame for someone so bright to be gone so soon, and Albus Dumbledore hoped that the former Death Eater had been able to forgive himself before he passed, and that it was a shame he would never meet Lily Potter's son.

About ninety percent of the student body was in celebration, however—not the least because no Potions master meant no Potions final—and made Trevor more than a little sick with all their congratulations. Trevor eventually appealed to Professor Dumbledore, and was sent home to finish up the year via correspondence course.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, went and fetched Professor Slughorn out of retirement, and lamented the loss of his potential double-agent—because he was certain deep in his bones that Voldemort would return, and Harry Potter losing one of his protectors was not something that they needed.

At least Severus had not slacked in providing his means of keeping the Sorcerer's Stone safe.

But life eventually went on, as it does, and Hogwarts settled into its new normal, calming even further over the summer as it patiently awaited its returning students and its new arrivals.

But this year promised to be charged, as it was the year Harry Potter was to arrive.

* * *

Harry Potter found Hogwarts to be huge, magical, and intimidating.

He loved every moment of it.

Magic was promising to be every bit as fascinating as he had hoped, and potentially limitless—provided he could get to his classes on time. Navigating in a magic castle with staircases that moved and doors that weren't really doors but walls pretending to be doors and doors pretending to be walls made Harry wish for a map sometime on his way to his second magical class ever. More than once, he had to ask for directions—but at least the portraits _moved and talked_, and were more often than not willing to point him in the right direction, after having a lengthy conversation first.

But right now, however, Harry was eating in the Great Hall with his new friend Ron, and trying to get directions to his Potions class from Ron's numerous brothers. Percy was the most helpful in this regard.

Fred and George, meanwhile, were busy telling them how lucky they were this year.

"You see the man talking with Professor Quirrell?" Fred asked, pointing at the High Table.

Harry did—winced as a little lance of pain went through his scar. Odd.

"That's Professor Slughorn," George said, as Harry rubbed at his forehead. "Dumbledore had to bring him out of retirement to fill the position when Trevor Carson blew up Professor Snape."

"Carson's finest hour," Fred said, hand to his chest and eyes closed.

"But that sounds horrible!" Hermione Granger said from further down the table. "Blowing up a teacher!"

"The man was a git," George said, waving her off. "Always fussing over his little snakes and taking points from all the other houses."

"Professor Snape was the head of Slytherin?" Harry guessed, having to edit his image of a man with a lot of pet snakes after George mentioned _other_ houses.

"Yeah," Fred said, nodding. "But now it's Slughorn—"

"_And_ he's the Potions teacher now," George added. "But at least he's not breathing down everyone's necks like Snape used to."

"True. You'd think he didn't trust us."

"And after our exemplary first year."

"And our second—"

"And winding up for a stellar third year as well."

Harry wasn't exactly sure why Percy rolled his eyes or why the older students within earshot all started choking on their food, except that maybe Fred and George were stretching the truth a little.

But thanks to Percy's directions, they found their Potions class with little effort—or at least, less effort than with finding their other classes—and settled in with what was promising to be a recurring sinking feeling whenever they shared classes with Slytherins. Harry had asked Ron about the house rivalries, and Ron was quick to point out that while most of the dark wizards from the whole secret wizarding war Harry had learned about were from Slytherin, those who opposed them were primarily Gryffindors. Pointing out that several of the children present were from those dark wizard families answered most of Harry's next questions.

Like all of the other teachers, Professor Slughorn paused on Harry's name and made a big deal of him, which bothered him deeply. What didn't bother him deeply, after they turned to their proper pages in their textbooks and started gathering ingredients and working, was Slughorn coming over and telling him he knew Harry's mother.

"Brightest witch of her year, and excellent at potions besides," Slughorn told him, pointing at Harry's cauldron. "I wouldn't be surprised if you inherited that from her, no sir!"

Harry was excited about that—so far, all he had heard about his mother (aside from what Aunt Petunia had said, and that was a lie anyway) was that he had her eyes. He had spent several hours staring into a mirror after that, pretending that he was looking at her and trying to figure out her face just from those eyes. So when Professor Slughorn invited him to a party that weekend, Harry was eager to accept, adding that he hoped to hear more about his mother then.

"The Muggles you lived with never told you about her?" Ron asked quietly once Slughorn had moved on. "I thought you all were related."

Harry shook his head. "Just that they died in a car crash."

"Well that's rubbish," Ron muttered.

There were two things happening right then that Harry had no idea of and could have no idea of. The first was that Ron was planning on writing to his parents and asking them if they knew anything about the Potters that he could pass on to Harry. Maybe even pictures.

The second was that a small black blot underneath their table had stirred, and was now making its way over to where Harry was standing and working at his cauldron, trying very hard to make his potion spot-on so Slughorn would be impressed enough to tell Harry all about his mother. Tiny claws reached out, dragging it along, until finally it reached Harry, who had been unwittingly obliging enough to stand still long enough while he stirred his cauldron the number of times that the book said, after refreshing his memory on which way counterclockwise was. Harry's only indication that the thing was climbing on him was a faint tug at his jeans, and he only spared a glance before going back to his cauldron, having not seen anything.

By then, the blot had tucked itself under the hem of Harry's robes, content to the fabric after exhausting what little strength it had by getting there.

* * *

Harry had told Ron that Hagrid had invited him by for tea later that day, and invited him along to meet the man. Ron had been a little leery upon seeing how huge Hagrid was, but settled in as well as could be expected, what with Fang drooling all over him.

Harry had offered to help Hagrid with the tea or treats or something—it felt weird not being the one to do the serving—but Hagrid had told him not to fret, _just sit down and then you can tell me about how your classes were—_

Which was about the time that Fang had apparently decided that he had drooled on Ron enough, and came over to sniff all over Harry—

And growl at the hem of his robes.

"Wha' is it, Fang?" Hagrid asked, putting the tea on the table. "Strange—'e ain't the sort to act like tha'."

"I don't know—hey!" Harry yelped, when Fang bit at his robe and started tugging.

"No! Bad Fang! Spit 'arry's robes out!"

Ron hustled over, apparently decided that helping Harry out of his robes was the most expedient way to get out of the mess he was currently in—he slipped out, Fang shook the robes—

Harry's wand flew out and clattered on the floor.

Something else flew out and landed with more of a squeak.

Two schoolboys, one half-giant, and a dog turned to stare at the thing, the latter dropping Harry's drool-soaked robes out of his mouth.

"Hagrid," Harry asked quietly, moving first. "What is it?"

"I dunno, Harry," Hagrid said, crossing over to it before Harry could. "Best stay back a bit, though—might sting ya if yer not careful."

Hagrid didn't seem to share his own caution, kneeling next to the thing and trying to coax it into his hand. Harry and Ron took the opportunity to lean around him and give it a better look.

Harry's first thought was _bird_, because of the bright white beak curving lightly down, with beady black eyes set into it. Scraggly black feathers just behind the beak helped that impression along, although the rest of it more closely resembled a crumpled black umbrella, with thin ribbing underneath the velvet-looking fur and tiny claws poking out where a wing-joint would be.

It was currently blinking up at Hagrid and backing up carefully, making tiny _crr_ noises like it wasn't sure what else to do, looking around like it was very disoriented and not impressed with Hagrid's overtones.

"It's okay," Harry told it. "Hagrid's nice. And he made treacle tart."

The tiny white beak swung to him, beady black eyes blinked, and it started dragging its way to him on tiny wing-claws. Hagrid took the opportunity to adjust his hands, allowing it to climb onto one before lifting it—it reached the other end of his broad hand and clawed bleakly at the air with one tiny wing-claw-hand, bereft at the loss of the ground and not quite sure how it happened.

"What _is_ that thing?" Ron asked, squinting at it like that would make its identity any clearer.

"Not quite sure," Hagrid said, obliging the little thing and putting his other hand out—it climbed onto it and continued on its quest to get to Harry, thin tail trailing behind, before once again reaching its previous obstacle. "Seems to have a likin' fer ye though, 'arry."

Harry found himself peering at it as well, before finally and gingerly holding up a hand for it to climb on. It reached out, tiny claws gently pricking his skin before climbing fully into his hand—he didn't think it was much bigger than a small bat.

And it was trying to crawl up his arm.

"Uh, no," Harry said, stretching his arm away from his body like that would help somehow.

"No, 'arry, lower yer arm, that's it," Hagrid counseled, gently lowering Harry's arm and blocking the thing's progress. It looked around before climbing up onto Harry's sweater and settling in on his chest.

There was a moment of them all watching it as it stayed there.

Ron finally asked the pertinent question.

"Now what?"


	2. In Which Names Are Given

**Chapter 2! In which names are given and a Saturday is spent productively….**

**As you might have guessed, updates will be spotty—honestly, updates on any of my stories or any of my social media sites will be spotty until September, which is when I should have my Ph.D. And then job-hunting happens….**

**Thanks for the review, Guest! Hopefully it will continue to be interesting….**

**Thanks for the review, sweetcat1025! Hopefully this chapter pleases! :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

"I bet it's a dragon," Ron said, eating a treacle tart and leaning on the table to watch the odd thing. "A baby dragon. My brother Charlie studies them, and he says they're real bitty when they're first hatched."

"A dragon ought to be breathin' fire though," Hagrid said. "They ken do that from the time they hatch."

Which led to Harry gently peeling it off of his front to put on the table so Hagrid could try tickling it under the chin and getting it to shoot flames. It didn't, instead opting to bat at Hagrid's fingers the way a kitten would when it sensed its dignity being called into question. They watched as Hagrid moved on to trying to get it to bite, but it still stuck with trying to bat him away before eventually conceding defeat and scurrying back to Harry.

"Not a dragon, then," Ron said. "Charlie says they'll try to eat you from the get-go."

"I doubt tha'," Hagrid said, helping himself to another treacle tart. "Terribly misunderstood creatures."

Ron rolled his eyes before focusing on Harry's attempt to try to interest the thing in a chunk of treacle tart. It eventually started nibbling away, revealing that the white beak had tiny razor-sharp teeth inside.

"Where'd yeh even pick this little thing up, anyway?" Hagrid asked, poking its wing gently—it batted at him again and backed up towards Harry.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I didn't even know it was in my robes until Fang started tugging on them—hey," he noised, pointing at Ron. "In Potions class today—I felt something tug on my jeans. I looked, but I wasn't really paying attention because I was trying to get the potion right for Slughorn—he said my Mum was the best at potions."

"She was," Hagrid confirmed. "Her and the old Potions master, Severus Snape—they were in the same year."

"The one that got blown up last year," Ron said.

"Aye—poor Trevor never quite forgave 'imself fer tha'."

The thing was starting to squeak in agitation, clinging to Harry's arm, and Harry tried petting it on its head to calm it down, finding a flat spot on its skull that—when stroked—made it go quiet and close its eyes. "Maybe we could name this thing after him."

Ron made a bit of a face at that. "I don't know—Fred and George were always complaining about him. Kind of surprised they weren't the ones to do it, to be honest."

"Ah, well, Professor Snape was always a bit biased against Gryffindors," Hagrid said, scratching at his beard. "Had a rivalry goin' with your da, 'arry—think 'e might o' been a bit jealous o' 'im."

"Really?" Harry asked. "How come?"

"Cos o' yer ma, Lily—think 'e always fancied 'er, to be 'onest."

So one of his professors had grown up with his mother and would have been able to tell him all about her—Harry felt a pang of regret for what could have been. He took a moment to take a drink of tea and compose himself—the thing, sensing that the stroking was at an end, opened its beady eyes and blinked owlishly at him.

"So," Harry said, going back to petting it. "Maybe we ought to call you Snape—after the old Potions teacher."

"Fred and George aren't going to like it," Ron pointed out.

* * *

Fred and George never heard it, seeing as how 'Snape' quickly got his name edited to 'Snips' after a while.

'Snips' being that that was what he did, quite a bit.

Tea had ended with Harry putting his robes back on and assuring Hagrid he'd be looking for what then-Snape was in the library while Hagrid consulted his own sources—being the groundskeeper of Hogwarts must involve a lot of connections, Harry decided, to keep such a huge magical school running. The little thing had snuggled up between his neck and his robe and settled in, occasionally peeking out as they made their way back up to the castle for dinner.

The snipping started when they sat down to eat and—after a moment of silence—started digging in.

"Ow!" Harry hissed at the first nip, more startled than hurt—he glanced down to see it staring pointedly at him. He guessed it was hungry and cut a tiny piece of meat for it to eat and held it up for it—it took the bit of meat and ate with it delicately clasped in its claws.

Harry went back to eating, satisfied he'd be left alone, when another nip graced his jawline.

"You didn't finish your meat," Harry pointed out when he looked back at it.

It looked at him, back at the table, back at him, before freeing up a claw and pointing imperiously at a bowl of mixed vegetables. Harry obligingly scooped a spoonful onto his plate, sorting out a smaller pea to offer to the little thing. It looked at the pea, then at Harry, back at the pea, back at Harry before pointing at the vegetables and then him.

Ron started laughing, having realized first that little Snape had been critiquing Harry's eating habits—sobered up quickly when said little thing polished off its own meal, licked its claws clean, and then launched itself over to Ron's shoulder to start nipping at him until he adjusted his own plate's contents. And then back to Harry when Harry was making a point of ignoring his vegetables.

"What is that thing?" George asked, he and Fred having watched the whole exchange from across the table.

"We don't know," Harry said, holding up a hand to protect his face from the nips. "We found it in my robes earlier."

"Now, Harry, this should be a valuable lesson to you," Fred said. "To never neglect washing your robes."

"Or your sheets," George said.

"Or your clothes."

"Why, remember the year mushrooms started sprouting all over the dorm rooms?"

"I think that might have been us, George."

"That was a good one."

The little thing stopped nipping Harry long enough to start growling at Fred and George, if one were generous enough to call a little _crr_ a growl.

"Oh dear, it doesn't approve of us," Fred observed.

"Best be eating our vegetables," George said, putting a scoop of the mixed vegetables on his plate.

"So what do you call the little nipping thing?"

"Snips—" Harry said, before realizing his error.

"Yeah, Snips is appropriate," Ron agreed, rubbing his face.

* * *

Snape-now-Snips' attitude didn't improve upon reaching the Gryffindor common room, burrowing against Harry's neck and making agitated little _yip_s.

"It might be too loud for him," Harry told Ron. "Come on, let's take him up to our dorm."

Ron nodded, followed Harry up the steps and to the first-year's dorm. Upon arrival, Harry sat crosslegged on his bed and waited for Snips to stick his head back out—which he did, eventually.

"I don't get it," Ron said, sitting on Harry's bed and leaning on his baseboard. "The Great Hall was just as loud."

"Yeah, but it was bigger," Harry pointed out. "The common room is a lot smaller, so maybe it seemed like more to him."

Snips gave a little peep in response, peering about the room like he expected something to come jumping out at him.

"So tomorrow we ought to go to the library," Harry said, petting Snips' head again and prompting the little thing to close his eyes each time. "See if there's a section on magical creatures we can look at."

"We're not entirely certain of him being a magical creature, though," Ron pointed out.

"I'm pretty sure I'd have heard of him if he were something Muggles were aware of."

"And you have that Slughorn party you have to go to."

"Oh yeah," Harry said, simultaneously looking forward to the party and dreading it. "Hey—maybe if we ask Slughorn tomorrow you can come too."

"Okay," Ron said, scowl fading—that echoed Harry's sentiments exactly, seeing as how he didn't want to go to a party where he knew no one by himself.

Snips, meanwhile, had finally seemed to decide that nothing in the room was going to jump out at him, and allowed Harry to gently tug him out of his robe and put him on Harry's pillow. Snips clawed at it for a moment before settling down and tucking his head under a fold of his wing, curling up and looking very much like an ink blot on the pillow.

"Well, at least he's settled in," Ron observed.

At least there was that.

* * *

Harry's first action the next morning was to check to see if Snips was still there, which he was. His next action, after getting ready, was to take Snips to go and meet Hedwig.

The snowy owl swooped down to Harry's outstretched arm as soon as he reached the owlery, nipped his ear affectionately upon him pulling his arm back in.

"Hedwig, this is Snips," Harry said, holding up his other hand and introducing the two. "he showed up in my robes yesterday. I think he comes from the Potions classroom."

Hedwig looked over the little bat-bird-thing for a few moments before deciding that preening his small crest of feathers was the best approach. Snips made a light _crr_ing noise and didn't seem to object to the attention.

Harry's next stop was breakfast, after telling Hedwig to come down and visit with the promise of bacon. Snips went to what was shaping up to be his usual perch, snug in the space between Harry's neck and his robes, his head peeking out so he could watch the comings and goings of the other students.

Harry got lost a total of three times on his way from the owlery to the Great Hall, eventually resulting in Snips nipping his jaw and pointing off in a direction. Figuring there was nothing else for it, Harry followed Snips' directions and eventually found himself walking into the Great Hall and heading for the Gryffindor table.

"Hey Harry!" Ron greeted, waving for him to come sit by him—Hedwig was already sitting there waiting for her bacon. "Where have you been?"

"Went to visit Hedwig in the owlery and got lost on my way back," Harry explained, sitting down and giving Hedwig her promised bacon. "Good news, though—Snips is good at navigating."

Snips gave a small chirp.

"Wicked," Ron said, grinning. "Now we don't have to worry about McGonagall getting on us about getting lost or being late again."

Harry was in full agreement on this, although he didn't appreciate Snips snipping at his jaw again and pointing at the fruit and oatmeal—this was starting to get annoying.

Hedwig sounding like she was laughing didn't help.

* * *

They managed to pin Professor Slughorn after breakfast and ask about Ron coming along—Ron could, fortunately. Professor Slughorn also gave them the time and place, so after that they entertained themselves with testing Snips' navigation sense again.

It was a bit of a sight, Harry holding Snips in his hands with Snips sitting up and pointing in various directions, looking a bit like an imperious plague doctor directing them this way and that in the style of a weathervane telling the wind. They arrived at a door that Snips chirped at, though, so Harry took the opportunity to knock on it, producing Professor Slughorn.

"Oh hello, Harry—did you need something?"

"No sir," Harry said, trying not to make a face at the feeling of Snips crawling up the inside of the arm of his robe. "Ron and I are just making sure we can find your office for later—so we don't get lost and are late."

Ron nodded, earning them both a _how good of you to think ahead now off you get enjoy your Saturday boys. _They were further down the hall when Snips poked his head out of Harry's robes again.

"How do we get to the library from here?" Harry asked him, prompting Snips to point off again. They followed his directions and ended up exactly where they needed to be.

"Absolutely brilliant," Ron whispered as they passed Madame Pince, prompting Harry to nod in agreement.

It also prompted them to look up magical creatures that were good at navigating, after finding the section.

By lunchtime, however, they had to concede that none of the creatures—although interesting—matched Snips properly. Returning after lunch didn't help, but it did have the bonus of them both agreeing that they were definitely taking Care of Magical Creatures in their third year.

Professor Slughorn's party was a bit of a wash, in Harry's opinion—Ron stayed near the snack table and Harry stayed near Slughorn, but they both got what they wanted. Snips, meanwhile, had at some point decided to stop munching on the bits Harry snuck to him and took a nap, curled up against Harry's neck and snoring softly.

This nap lasted until after dinner, at which time the noise of the common room woke Snips up and sent him _yip_ping again. Harry tried leaving him in the dorm room, but Snips refused to stay when it became evident Harry was planning on leaving. Harry and Ron eventually ended up playing wizard's chess on the steps, Ron teaching Harry the basics of the game as people maneuvered around them.

But in all, it wasn't a bad way to spend a day, Harry thought.


	3. In Which a Three-Headed Dog is Found

**Chapter 3, everybody! In which potions happen and a three-headed dog is found….Updates will still be irregular until September, just so you all know; as I've said before, Ph.D. takes priority. ^^;**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Sunday had Harry and Ron working on homework in the relatively quiet common room—or at least, quiet enough that Snips didn't yip in alarm and instead poked his head out of a fold of Harry's clothes to look at what he was doing.

As it turned out in the following weeks, Snips could read, and was not above tracking inky prints all over Harry's homework if he thought it to be unsalvageable. Ron laughed at that a grand total of once before Snips saw fit to give his homework the same treatment, not even bothering to look at it first.

Another benefit to their homework that Snips provided became evident at their next Potions class.

Harry had been worried about Snips wandering off or not liking being in the Potions classroom, due to him coming from there, but Snips behaved very much like he had in all the other classes: nestled in his spot by Harry's neck and nipping at his jaw when he thought Harry was goofing off or not paying attention. Although in History of Magic class, it was for picking odd letters while he was playing hangman with Ron.

What started the aberration in Snips' behavior was when they were done taking notes and moved on to the practical aspects of the potion—that is, actually making it.

Snips' first nip came when Harry was trying to cut the bean that was to go in the potion, nearly resulting in Harry cutting himself.

"Ow!" Harry hissed, sparing Snips a glare. "What? It says cut it."

Snips shook his head, climbed down Harry's arm, nipped at his hand to make him drop the knife, tugged the blade onto the bean, and mimed pushing down. When Harry just stared, Snips went over to the book, dipped a claw in Harry's inkwell, and crossed out the word _chop_ in the _chop the baprill bean_ line before going back and leaning on the knife blade.

Harry gave him a look, but obliged him in squashing the bean instead.

Immediately the bean released quite a lot more juice than Harry had been expecting—Snips scrambled off the cutting board as Harry quickly lifted it and dumped the juice into the potion, which changed to the exact color the book said it needed to be.

"Wow," Ron said, looking over. "How'd you do that?"

Harry quickly and quietly relegated what Snips had done while writing out _crush bean with knife_ under where Snips had crossed out the original instruction, recalling how he had heard some of the women of Little Whinging talking about how the best cookbooks were ones other people had written in. Ron, who had been having difficulty in chopping his bean as well, immediately copied him and dumped the juice in, ending in similar results.

This resulted in the next hour being them watching Snips and following his directions before copying down what he had changed, following his miming and pointing and watching as he picked out the best ingredients for the job and scuttling up Ron and Harry's arms to check on their potions or hiding in the arms of their robes or under their propped-up textbooks whenever Professor Slughorn came by. It was an arduous and time-consuming process, and they finished up quite a bit after everyone else was bottling up their own work and cleaning up their stations, but the finished product looked exactly like the book said it ought to.

"This is absolutely brilliant, boys!" Professor Slughorn had crowed, upon coming back to ascertain why they were taking so much longer than the rest. "A bit plodding in your pace, but that is precisely how this potion is supposed to look! Full marks, both of you!"

Harry and Ron were cheering as they left the classroom, and Snips got quite a bit of food and pets at lunch.

"Absolutely brilliant!" Ron was gushing, giving Snips another piece of ham.

"So we can add _good at potions_ to the list of identifying traits in what Snips is," Harry said, rereading his potions book with the now-edited recipe.

"Can I copy that later? I didn't get a chance to write everything down."

"Sure—no wait, here's an idea: we take turns copying down what Snips does. So next class you write it down and I copy off of you and the class after that I write it down and you copy off of me—"

During their excited planning, however, they failed to notice Hermione Granger sitting down the table from them and resolving that she wouldn't be second-best in potions next class.

Thus started an unwitting rivalry that Harry and Ron were blissfully unaware of.

* * *

For the most part, Harry found the student body of Hogwarts to be tolerable—some were good, some were bad, some were middling.

Some were Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy had not taken Harry turning down his offer on the train well, and Harry had at one point or another tried to explain that it was because Harry hadn't liked his attitude towards Ron or Hagrid, and later the way he picked on Neville Longbottom. Malfoy didn't seem to take the hint, however, and after the incident with Neville's Remembrall and the _becoming the youngest seeker in a century instead of being expelled_ bit, Malfoy had challenged Harry to a duel.

Harry, of course, had no idea what Malfoy was talking about, was even more lost when Ron said he'd be Harry's second. Snips was vocal in his disapproval once Malfoy left, and Harry was forced to hold Snips' beak shut so he could properly question Ron on the matter.

Wizard duels apparently involved shooting spells at each other, although Ron was pretty sure all they'd be able to do would be to shoot sparks at each other at this point. That didn't stop Harry from looking up several defensive spells in his copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ that afternoon and practicing on a cushion that had served the Gryffindor common room quite well and hadn't bothered anybody, thank you very much. And then looking up how to _repair_ said cushion when one spell sent it flying against the wall so hard that it lost its stuffing.

Snips remained vocal in his disapproval of Harry and Ron going out to duel Malfoy that night, and Harry was forced to bring him along before he woke up the rest of the tower. And then Hermione Granger, who had been up studying several potions books in her continuing endeavor to best Harry and Ron in the subject, spotted them and followed them, assisting Snips in his haranguing when she realized what they were doing before deciding that they weren't worth her getting into trouble—only to find that the Fat Lady had left on a nighttime stroll, thus sealing the entrance to Gryffindor tower.

The issues continued when they ran into Neville on their way to the trophy room, who lacked a Snips of his own and therefore had gotten hopelessly lost on the way back to the Gryffindor tower from the hospital wing (having broken his wrist when he fell off his broom earlier that day). Harry told him he could come with them, after they took care of the minor issue of dueling Malfoy, and they arrived in the trophy room (through no help of Snips, who firmly refused to assist with their navigating) shortly before midnight.

Shortly _after_ midnight, they realized they had been had, when they heard Filch approaching.

Which then resulted in a mad dash to get _away_ from the trophy room and Filch, and then away from Peeves the Poltergeist, eventually cumulating in them barreling into a room whose door Hermione had hastily unlocked with a spell, slamming it shut behind them and hoping against all hope that Filch didn't hear.

"Snips, _shut up!"_ Harry hissed, when the little thing in question started yipping in agitation.

Snips did not shut up, was in fact assisted by Neville screaming, which prompted the rest of them to turn around and come to the abrupt realization that they were, in fact, sharing a room with a giant three-headed dog.

It didn't take them very long to vacate the premises, but it did take them a long time to stop running after that, Snips eventually tugging on Harry's ear whenever he wanted him to make a left turn. When they stopped finally, out of breath, it was with the realization that the entrance to the Gryffindor tower was just a few turns away.

Once they were safely back inside, Hermione had been quite vocal in her opinions on the matter.

"I'm going to bed," she finished up. "Before either one of you comes up with another way to get us all killed—or worse, _expelled_."

And with that, she stormed off to the girls' dorm.

"She _really_ needs to sort out her priorities," Ron said finally.

Snips made a sort of repressive noise that told Harry that he agreed fully with Hermione.

After they all collapsed into their respective beds, however, Harry couldn't help but ponder what Hermione pointed out: that the dog had been guarding something.

But what?

* * *

The next morning, Harry had tried cajoling Snips into taking them back to the room the dog had been in. Snips had refused.

Snips was also very pointedly ignoring both Harry and Ron, turning up his beak at them both and refusing to look at them. Harry guessed, rightfully so, that Snips was mad at them for sneaking out.

It eventually came to a head during Potions class, when Snips absolutely refused to help them with their potions and actually went so far as to climb down Harry's robes and go under the table. Ron told Professor Slughorn that Harry had dropped one of his tools when he came by, and the moment he was gone Harry was back to trying to cajole Snips to come back out.

Snips eventually did so when both Harry and Ron were on their knees apologizing, but firmly refused to help them for the rest of the class—their potions were about average, and Hermione Granger looked faintly triumphant, as did Draco Malfoy, who had been fuming at Harry and Ron escaping trouble once again.

But Snips was back to taking food from them and looking at them during lunch, and nipping Harry for neglecting his vegetables, so there was that. And Harry assured him that he wouldn't be doing something quite that idiotic again, which seemed to mollify Snips further.

And Harry, at the end of the day, would much rather have a friend's approval than a winning grade.


	4. In Which a Troll is Fought

**Chapter 4, everyone! In which Hermione discovers Snips and a troll is fought…use the same ending line in this as is in the canon chapter—I don't know why, but I like that line. :)**

**Thanks for the review, guest! Ah thanks—I was wondering how it'd be taken, so I'm glad it's got some fans. :D Yes…much nicer when he looks like Petrie and sounds like Woodstock. :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

The next major incident happened at Halloween.

Ron and Harry still hadn't had much luck with deducing what manner of creature Snips was supposed to be, and Hagrid wasn't having much luck on that front either. Neville studied with them in the library, but his area of expertise was shaping up to be Herbology, which didn't exactly help considering Snips wasn't a plant.

Snips also didn't have much to do with Neville, which seemed to suit the boy just fine. Snips, if Harry were to be perfectly honest, didn't seem to care to have much to do with anyone except Harry and Ron and sometimes Hagrid, and more Harry than Ron.

Adding to their troubles was the fact that Malfoy was now actively plotting against them, having been continually bested by Harry's ability to squeak out of trouble once in it. Malfoy had attempted to sabotage Harry's potions several times since, and had taken to skulking with Crabbe and Goyle in the halls in the hopes of jumping Harry between classes. Snips had once again proven invaluable in these situations, batting the firecrackers away or quickly tossing in things that neutralized whatever it was Malfoy snuck in and directing Harry and Ron up and down all sorts of secret passages and shortcuts that got them where they needed to be without crossing Malfoy's path. In all, a good system.

Unfortunately, Snips somewhat added to Harry's other problem, that of the ever-increasing competition with Hermione Granger that Harry was now, unfortunately, becoming aware of. Mostly because Hermione had buttonholed Harry in the common room once, having pained herself by swallowing her pride and asking Harry what book he was consulting to make him so good at Potions.

Snips had not approved of Harry tugging him out of his robes and presenting him to Hermione, and Hermione didn't approve of either Snips' assisting in the classroom or the edits they had been giving to their textbooks.

"It's cheating!" Hermione insisted, all but stomping a foot (although Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she did).

"How is it cheating?" Harry asked, as Snips quickly scurried back to his usual spot. "Snips can tell what ingredients are the best to use and how to use them—I guess it's cheating to have owls deliver mail too?"

"I'm telling Professor Slughorn!"

"No you're not!" Ron insisted, having come up behind her when he spotted his friend literally cornered by the bushy-haired girl.

"Snips doesn't just help with potions—he's been helping me and Ron get around the castle," Harry protested. "And he's been helping us avoid Malfoy _and_ fixing it when Malfoy tries to ruin my potions—I'd have failed every class this past month if it weren't for him."

"And do you know what it is, exactly?" Hermione asked crossly.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances at that—of all the questions to ask….

Which led to an entire argument about how they ought to turn Snips in anyway—Snips, meanwhile, had buried himself in the back of Harry's robes and, by the feel of it, had covered his head in an attempt to block out their arguing. Harry had finally pointed out that Hagrid—an _adult_—had not seen a problem with Harry keeping Snips, and the argument had been postponed—not finished—by Percy finally coming over and telling them they were getting too loud and disrupting the common room, _stop it._

They had dispersed, and Harry had sat with Ron and taken quite a few minutes to try to coax Snips back out—they had finally gotten him to tolerate the common room, but their argument had obviously bothered him.

And then Fred and George had plopped down next to them.

"What's this we hear about our little vegetable-pusher?" Fred asked.

"Something about him navigating all over Hogwarts with no trouble at all?" George asked.

Harry and Ron exchanged grimaces, but explained that Snips had been helping them find their way around the castle for the past month or so.

"Very nice," George said.

"I don't suppose he'd care to demonstrate?" Fred asked.

Snips, who had resumed his usual post by Harry's neck, very pointedly crossed his wings, closed his eyes, and settled down in a slouch.

"No," Harry translated. "Snips won't do anything he doesn't want to, and I guess he's not in the mood after earlier."

Fred and George, at least, left it at that.

Ron, however, got steadily more antagonistic towards Hermione over the incident, coming to a head when they were paired together in Charms class. Harry—before having his feather blown up by Seamus Finnegan—overheard Ron and Hermione verbally snipping at each other over how to properly perform the levitating spell, ending with Hermione doing it properly and winning Professor Flitwick's praise.

Ron was more than a little upset when they left the classroom.

"Completely insufferable know-it-all," he was muttering. "It's no wonder she doesn't have any friends!"

Which was when Hermione blew past them, head down.

"I think she heard you," Harry said.

* * *

Halloween night at Hogwarts was nothing short of spectacular, from the decorations to the dishes, although Harry couldn't help but think that Snips disapproved of all the candy laid out, something a glance at him proved. But Harry was having a hard time not enjoying himself, having a run of chocolate frogs before running up and down the table—and then over to some of the other ones—swapping them with the other students, Ron shortly getting in on the action and several other students joining in. Harry had even, after much fierce debate and haggling, gotten Malfoy to leave him alone for a week and give him three cards as well in exchange for a holo variant Uric the Oddball.

But in that running up and down and all around, Harry had noticed one particular student still missing.

"Hey," he asked upon sitting back down at the Gryffindor table. "Has anyone seen Hermione?"

"Not since class," Neville said. "I heard she's been in the girls' bathroom, crying."

Harry gave Ron a look that Snips apparently seconded, flying over to Ron and nipping his face, much to the redhead's consternation, and probably would not have stopped had Professor Quirrell not come running in at that moment.

"TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" Professor Quirrell practically shrieked, voice an octave higher than usual. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!...Thought you ought to know…."

And then he fainted.

Silence reigned for a whole moment before everyone started loudly panicking, grabbing what they could and running into each other and—

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore bellowed, standing. When everyone quieted and looked his way: "Prefects, escort the students to their common rooms. Teachers, with me to the dungeons."

Harry tucked in with the other Gryffindors as everyone filed out of the Great Hall, hearing the Hufflepuffs expressing relief that their common room wasn't too far away and some of the Slytherins panicking because _wait a minute, our common room is in the dungeons—_

And then Snips, who had returned to Harry's shoulder in the kerfuffle, nipped at his jaw.

"What?" Harry asked, looking at him. "I'm going to the common room, like I'm supposed to."

In response, Snips pointed away and down a different hall. But why—

Oh no.

"Ron!" Harry hissed, catching his friend's arm. "Hermione! She doesn't know about the troll!"

Ron blanched at the realization, hastened after Harry as he ran down the side hall, following Snips' directions—

And then plastering themselves behind a statue at Snips' sudden change in directory and agitated yips.

Why he changed their course became very clear when the troll came into view.

Harry briefly recalled Ron's comment that Fred had told him that first years had to fight a troll to get accepted, and was very glad that had been proven false—this thing easily filled a hall that could have swallowed the Dursleys' house, with knobby warty thorny thick skin and sloping forehead and club the size of a bus. It was huge, it was horrible….

It was fortunately passing them by in favor of squeezing into another room.

One with a door and a lock.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, nodded—

And as soon as it was in, they ran forward and yanked the door shut, locking it for good measure.

They were well on their way to congratulating themselves when the reason for Snips' insistent tugging on Harry's ear and frantic yipping became clear—a scream coming from in the room. In a panic, they ripped the door back open—

To find that they had locked the troll in a bathroom.

To be specific: the bathroom Hermione had been in and was currently in, squashed in a corner and looking up at the troll in absolute terror.

Things happened quickly and without much sense after that—throw debris at the troll to distract it—Harry threw himself at the troll, managed to get up on its back and hanging on for dear life with his wand up its nose as it flailed about—Ron ran over to Hermione, hauled her to her feet and tried to drag her back to the door—dodge the troll's attempt to squash them with its club—Snips clawing onto its face and snapping his tail (which hurt, in Harry's experience) in its eyes—

And then the troll got a hold of Harry, ripping him forward—dead he was so dead—

"Swish and flick!" he heard Hermione yell, before he balled himself up as best he could and waited for the end—

Tiny claws gripped at him instead of a huge club bashing into him—he looked—

To see that Snips had jumped to him, spread out as far as his little body could be, and was looking up at what he and the troll both noticed: the club floating over its head—

And then falling directly on it, knocking it out and sending Harry tumbling.

The first thing Harry was aware of after getting his wind back was that Hermione was over him. "Are you okay what were you thinking you could have gotten _killed_!"

"Ow," Harry said in reply, sitting up and checking to see that Snips was all right—Snips was, and was chittering at the same speed Hermione was. Look around for Ron—there, still with his wand out and staring at the unconscious troll.

"Wicked," Ron breathed finally.

Their elation was short-lived, as several teachers stormed in, including Professor McGonagall. Harry was certain that they were doomed—

And then Hermione took the blame.

Harry and Ron stared, completely flabbergasted, as she said how she had thought she could take on the troll and how foolish she had been, to the surprise of everyone present—even Snips, back in his usual position, was positively still.

Professor McGonagall was firmly in agreement with Hermione on that matter, taking five points from Gryffindor.

"As for you two," Professor McGonagall continued. "It's not many first years that take on a full-grown mountain troll, and live to tell the tale! Five points, to each of you. _For sheer dumb luck!"_

Harry didn't care, they were alive, they were—ow.

Harry glared at Snips as Professor McGonagall shooed them out with the intention of making sure they got to their dorm rooms this time—Snips, meanwhile, was looking pointedly at Professor Quirrell, who had volunteered to stay behind and take care of the troll—

And who was quickly flicking his robe to hide a bloody leg.

Harry glanced up at Professor Quirrell's face, again feeling that pang in his scar when he did so.

But any concern about Professor Quirrell was abated by Hermione stopping them in the entrance to the Gryffindor tower and thanking them for saving her life.

"You should thank Snips," Harry pointed out. "He was the one who found you so fast."

Hermione smiled at Snips when he poked his head out of Harry's robes. "Thank you, Snips."

After that, Hermione was their friend. There were just some things in life people can't go through without becoming friends, and fighting a mountain troll was one of them.


	5. In Which Hermione Sets People on Fire

**Chapter 5, everybody! In which Quidditch is played and Hermione sets people on fire….And why does Word recognized "Quidditch" but FFN not?...**

**Finished Chapter 4 of my dissertation except for some light editing, so I'm posting a chapter to celebrate. :D**

**Thanks for the review, guest! Ah, thank you—we're going to be getting some more of that interaction this chapter as well. :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

November was the start of the Quidditch season and signaled the arrival of Harry's first game as seeker for the Gryffindor team. Harry had been practicing with the team three times a week, something which left him little time to go hunting in the library for information about Snips.

Hermione, however, was more than willing to pick up the slack there, having relaxed a bit about breaking the rules and a lot about Snips. It was entertaining, however, to find that the library—which had to be Hermione's favorite place in the castle—was not helping her any more than it had the boys. Snips remained a mystery.

Snips also extended his homework editing to Hermione, surprising Ron and Harry by reading through her homework and then crossing out several lines all the way through. Harry had to quickly explain that Snips would often cross out lines in their homework that wasn't right, but said quite honestly that he had no idea why Snips would do the same to Hermione's work, since she had such high grades.

In response, Snips had stopped, pointed at the homework, made a circular motion with one wing-claw-hand, paused before repeating the motion again and again.

"Repetitive," Ron said, having become very good at guessing Snips' charades. Snips pointed at him in approval and apparently decided that Ron would be rewarded by having his homework graded next.

Harry had also asked Snips to sit with Hermione on their next Potions class, to settle the matter of if having Snips help was cheating or not; neither Hermione nor Snips looked thrilled by this, but they eventually agreed.

"You have to write down what Snips does and let us copy it though," Ron pointed out before they headed to Potions. "That's the rule."

Hermione rolled her eyes but agreed, heading into the classroom with Snips hidden in her bushy hair.

Snips going with Hermione turned out to have a surprise benefit, however—they had all been paired off to work together on a boil-curing potion, and she had been paired off with Neville, who was quickly gaining a reputation of being a bit of a disaster magnet. Harry—paired off with Ron and at the table behind Hermione and Neville—saw that Snips was quick to snap his tail at Neville and stop him from some potential blunders, for which Harry was certain Neville would be grateful for.

Slughorn had also approved of their end work, although not because he had learned of Snips.

"Wonderful work you two," he had told Hermione and Neville at the end of class. "Should pair off the top students with those that need assistance next week, yes I should."

Neville had been relieved as they left class, while Hermione had been somewhat mollified, and spent most of lunch—while Harry and Ron busily copied down her notations—quizzing Snips on the class and trying to determine what he was saying.

"What would have happened if we had added the porcupine quills before taking the potion off the fire?" Hermione asked, Neville nodding.

Snips, who was currently sitting on the table between her and Ron, gave that some consideration before putting his wings together then out, flopping backwards with his wings splayed out.

"That bad," Ron observed.

Hermione nodded, not noting how pale Neville had gotten. "Potions are _very_ delicate—every book I've read says that you have to be _very_ careful with brewing, otherwise things can go terribly wrong."

"How did anyone ever come up with new potions, then?" Harry asked, honestly confused on the matter.

"Well, obviously they knew what they were doing well enough to experiment, and I'm sure there are spells and potions that could neutralize any ill effects—"

Snips made a _crr_ noise, crossed over to Harry's potions book and started flipping through the pages.

"I wasn't finished with that," Harry pointed out, earning him a dismissive noise from Snips. Harry opted to just watch and wait, figuring Snips would find what he was looking for eventually.

He did—Snips stopped on a page and started tapping a section, looking up at them all expectantly, beak swiveling to fix each one of them with his beady eyes.

"'Bezoar,'" Harry read, leaning to look at what Snips was pointing at. "'Found in the stomach of a goat and acts as a cure for most poisons.'"

"See?" Hermione asked. "That would work—"

"But who figured it out first?"

"Got a point," Ron said, finishing up his own copying and reaching for the steak and kidney pie. "What bloke found a rock in a goat stomach and said _I have a whole goat here, but I think I'll eat this rock instead_?"

Which started a whole discussion on who, exactly, started potioneering and why. Snips, meanwhile, had apparently decided that he was done and was close enough to Harry to climb up his arm and reach his usual spot to settle in.

The discussion finally ended with Hermione dashing off to the library to get to the bottom of the burning question she now had, and they didn't see her again until dinner. Which, Ron pointed out, was probably because Madame Pince told her to get something to eat before she collapsed.

Harry did not doubt this.

"But we've established," Ron said to Hermione. "That having Snips' help is not cheating."

Hermione gave a minor head-wobble. "I suppose he's good to have in the classroom."

Harry and Ron were more than willing to count that as a win.

* * *

The morning of Harry's first Quidditch match, Harry woke early and with a feeling not unlike a dozen ice-cold snakes squirming in his stomach. He was queasy and nervous and worried he'd either die horribly or make a complete fool of himself, neither of which seemed an improvement over the other.

He laid there for quite some time, staring at the canopy of his four-poster before Snips leaned into view, making a worried noise.

"I'm fine," Harry told him, earning a snip on his chin. "Ow—fine, I feel like I'm going to throw up."

Snips seemed to accept that, instead moving on to his usual nip-nip-nip that was _get up you're going to be late!_

Harry's nerves hadn't vanished by breakfast, either.

"Harry, you've got to eat _something!"_ Hermione stressed, as Snips finally gave up on trying to get Harry to eat from his shoulder and climbed down to the table, holding up a sausage.

"I'm not hungry," Harry mumbled.

"At least some toast."

Snips put down the sausage and dragged over a slice of toast.

"I'm still not hungry."

Snips bit him on the hand, pointed at him and then the toast.

"Eat, Harry," Hermione insisted.

"You're going to throw up anyway," Ron reasoned. "Might as well have something in there so it's not dry heaves."

"_Ron!"_

Harry did manage to eat half a slice of toast though, although it didn't help much. He left Snips with Ron and Hermione as they parted ways, stomach still churning as he got dressed in his uniform and listened to Wood's pep-talk.

Things improved though the moment they were in the air—Harry was back in his element, flying free and grinning at the banner his friends had made.

Now to find the Snitch.

* * *

Snips was on Hermione's shoulder and tucked under her hair, after establishing that Ron and Hagrid were much too mobile and loud, although Dean Thomas was definitely taking the cake as far as cheering wildly was concerned. Hermione didn't mind, since Snips was being very well-behaved, beak tilted up and following Harry as he flew all over in his search for the Snitch.

And then yipping in alarm as Harry's broom started bucking.

Everyone was yelling in alarm, trying to figure out what was going on—

"Ow!" Hermione yelped, looking down at Snips—

Who pointed across the way at the teachers' stands.

Hermione put her binoculars to her eyes, scanned where he was pointing—

Professor Quirrell—he was looking right at Harry, eyes fixed, not blinking, continually muttering under his breath.

"Professor Quirrell is jinxing Harry's broom!" Hermione yelped, whipping her binoculars into Neville's chest. "I have to do something—I'll be right back!"

She ran for the steps, Snips launching himself off her shoulder as she ran—hopefully to Ron.

But no time for that now.

* * *

Fred, like most of the rest of the pitch, was watching Harry hang on for dear life with growing horror, flying with George beneath Harry in case he fell—come on, a brand-spanking-new Nimbus Two Thousand shouldn't be doing this—

He caught something out of the corner of his eye, looked to see Snips flapping frantically as he made his way across the pitch.

Fred wondered briefly what the little vegetable-pusher was doing, dismissed that thought quickly and sprang into action when he saw a bludger on a trajectory course for Snips—by the time he bashed it away, Snips was almost across the field, flapping up before arrowing down and landing full on Professor Quirrell's face.

"Woo!" Fred cheered. "Go veggie-pusher!"

And then someone on the field yelled, and Fred spun around just in time to see Harry heading for the ground.

* * *

Hermione had reached the teachers' stands just as Snips dove—realized from the shrieks and her view of the field that she'd still have to _do something_—

She whipped out her wand and cast a spell she had used earlier that week, sending bright blue flames onto Professor Quirrell's robes and prompting the man to flail more vigorously than he had been—Snips hit the floorboards with a squeak, and Hermione snatched him up and ran before anyone thought to look.

She was a few flights down when Snips got enough wind back to start yipping, pointing out an open window—

Harry was diving for the ground.

Hermione had a fit of panic, squeezing Snips so hard he started squeaking—

But Harry was back in control of the broom, stumbling off of it and putting his fists to his stomach in a self-Heimlich—

And spitting out the Snitch.

Hermione sighed with relief, collapsing on the steps and hugging Snips to her chest, much to the latter's consternation.

That could have ended very, very badly.

* * *

The common room was wall-to-wall noise, enough that it made Snips yip in alarm, but not enough that Harry was able to put him in his dorm and leave him there to calm down—Snips had, upon seeing Harry again, dove straight for his usual spot and refused to budge no matter how much the team tossed him into the air, ending with Harry having quite a few nicks on his neck from Snips hanging on for dear life.

But eventually, Fred and George pinned him between them during a lull in the congratulations.

"So, Harry, mind telling us what the little veggie-pusher was doing flying across the field?" Fred asked.

"Do what?" Harry asked blankly.

"Snips was going for Professor Quirrell while your broom was acting up."

"It was because Professor Quirrell was jinxing Harry's broom," Hermione said. "Snips spotted him first and pointed him out—it had to be him, because as soon as we stopped him Harry's broom straightened up."

Everyone within earshot fell silent.

"Wow, Harry," George said finally. "And I thought _we_ bugged the teachers—we've never had one so mad at us they wanted to kill us."

Which concerned Harry deeply.


	6. In Which Harry Disappears

**Chapter 6, everybody! In which accusations are made and Harry disappears….Also, Hagrid shouldn't have said that.**

**Featuring the Frost King as a guest star as well. ;)**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Harry brought up the issue of Professor Quirrell potentially wanting him dead to the one adult in Hogwarts he trusted implicitly.

"Now why would Professor Quirrell do a thing like tha'?" Hagrid asked.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione—with Snips in tow, of course—were visiting Hagrid for tea and had brought that issue up.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Fred and George thinks it's my grades, but I doubt it."

"But he _was_ cursing your broom, no doubt," Hermione insisted. "I've read all about them—you have to maintain eye contact and Professor Quirrell _wasn't blinking_."

"And Snips attacked him—that's something," Ron pointed out.

Snips, meanwhile, was attempting to bite a rock cake with limited success, eventually giving up and climbing up Harry's arm to his usual spot.

"Snips pointed out Quirrell's bloody leg, too," Harry said, recalling. "And Quirrell knew I saw it, so he must have thought—I bet you anything he let that troll in on Halloween!"

"Why, though?" Ron asked.

"To distract everyone while he got past that three-headed dog!"

Hagrid dropped his rock cake.

"How do yeh know abou' Fluffy?" he asked.

The rest of them stared.

"That _thing_ has a _name_?" Hermione asked.

"'Course 'e does—'e's onna mine," Hagrid said. "Bought 'im offa Greek chappie a few years back—loaned him to Dumbledore to protect the—I shouldn't 'ave said tha'."

"Protect the what?" Harry asked.

"Now, I can't tell yeh tha'—it's top secret, tha' is."

"Like what was in vault seven-hundred and thirteen was? That was _official Hogwarts business?"_

"Tha's right. And you three best not be botherin' with tha' business, either."

"But if Professor Quirrell is trying to kill Harry for knowing something—" Hermione began.

"Why would 'e, though? Professor Quirrell is one of the ones protecting the—I shouldn't 'ave said tha'."

"So there's more than just the dog," Harry said.

"And it's still none of you lot's business."

Snips started yipping at Hagrid.

"But it's something valuable enough for Quirrell to think he ought to kill me," Harry pointed out. "So whatever it is—"

"Is _still_ none of your business, what's in there is only the concern of Dumbledore and Flamel—I shouldn't 'ave said tha'."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of Snips putting a claw-hand to his forehead and shaking his head.

* * *

Winter descended upon Hogwarts quite suddenly, leaving a blanket of snow coating the grounds, frosting the panes, and draping icicles from the trees. Harry was almost certain he saw something big, blue and antlered galloping away one morning, but when he had enough free time to go and search the snow for tracks, he found no trace.

The snow might have made the grounds beautiful, but it also made the castle cold, and everyone was bundled up tight when they ran to and fro to class. Peeves kept opening all the windows in the halls, and the Weasley twins were disciplined for hexing several snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell around and bounce off his turban.

Snips, meanwhile, stayed firmly snuggled down in his spot between Harry's neck and his robes, shivering whenever a cold wind hit and rarely venturing out even during Potions class. Harry brought up the notion that maybe Snips needed a cozy or something as he tried to interest Snips in a spoonful of soup, which he eventually sipped at before ducking back into his little pocket of warmth.

"That's be an awfully tiny sweater, though," Ron pointed out, leaning a bit to see Snips—futile, since Snips was burrowed in deep with a fold of fabric pulled over him.

The Weasleys were staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, since their parents were visiting Ron's brother Charlie in Romania. Harry was also staying, not hesitating a second when he realized he could avoid the Dursleys for even longer—although that wasn't lost on Malfoy, who enjoyed the extra dig that Harry didn't have a welcome place back home.

Malfoy had obviously not taken Gryffindor beating Slytherin in Quidditch well.

But Harry was also looking forward to some extra time to scan the library—research on Snips was tabled temporarily as they searched for information on Flamel, who Harry swore he had heard of before. And since Hagrid had said Professor Quirrell had provided a means to protect whatever the three-headed dog was guarding, that meant that other teachers might have been in on it, and they couldn't ask about Flamel without raising suspicion.

"You can ask your parents, though," Ron told Hermione, who was going home for the Holidays. "They'd be safe."

"Very safe," Hermione agreed. "Seeing as they're both dentists."

* * *

The first day of the holidays marked the first day Snips ever ventured much past Harry in the common room, only because it was so quiet by comparison. Harry and Ron had claimed two of the best seats in the room, by the fireplace, and Snips sat on top of Harry's chair as they toasted everything they could spear on toasting forks.

Christmas morning dawned with Snips nipping Harry's chin.

"Ow!" Harry yelped, jerking up—

And then spotting what it was Snips was squeaking about.

"Ron! Ron! I've got presents!"

"Well what did you expect, turnips?" Ron asked blearily, struggling upright before brightening at his own pile, sitting at the foot of his bed. "Well go on then, Harry!"

Harry did so, happy at the fact that he had gotten _presents_—a wooden flute from Hagrid, a five-cent piece from the Dursleys (which he gave to Ron), a box of chocolate frogs from Hermione—

"Oh no, Mom gave you a Weasley sweater," Ron said, pointing at a lumpy parcel.

It was indeed, a lovely warm sweater in emerald green with a gold _H_ on the front.

"Mom makes us one every year," Ron said, unwrapping his own. "And mine's always _maroon."_

Snips, meanwhile, had been pleased to find that Ron's mother had also knitted him a tiny scarf. It was striped pink, but Snips refused to take it off once it was on him, so he must not have minded the color too terribly.

That only left one more parcel, which—when opened—spilled out something silvery.

"What is it?" Harry wondered, picking it up and spreading it to examine it better.

"Woah," Ron gasped. "If that's what I think it is—that's really rare, if it is."

"It looks like some sort of cloak," Harry said, trying it on.

Snips started yipping in agitation.

"I was right!" Ron yelped, pointing. "Harry! Go look at yourself in the mirror!"

Harry started, turned to see—

Just his head floating in the mirror.

"My body's gone!" he yelped, looking down at where his body _should_ be.

"I'm right! That's an invisibility cloak! Those are really rare!"

"Why did I get one?"

"I don't know—did it come with a note?"

Snips made several sharp yips, coming out from a pile of paper and holding up a note. Harry took it and read it.

"'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time I returned it to you. Use it well,'" Harry read.

"No name?" Ron asked.

"None," Harry confirmed, letting the cloak slide off. Snips—now that he was able to see what he was aiming at again—jumped to his shoulder and growled at the note.

And then Fred and George came in, and the topic of the invisibility cloak was suspended for the time being.

* * *

That night, Harry couldn't help but think of the invisibility cloak, enough that he couldn't sleep—he finally slid out of bed and retrieved it from under the bed, where he had kicked it when Fred and George had come in.

It felt strange, like water made into fabric, and when he put it on, he felt free—the whole of Hogwarts was open to him with this on.

_Use it well_.

Harry eagerly turned to leave—

_YEEP!_

Ah, but of course.

He looked back at his bed to see Snips running about his bedsheets in a panic, yipping frantically at having lost Harry in the middle of the night. Harry quickly tugged the cloak halfway off and ran back to his bed.

"It's all right, it's all right—I'm right here, see?" Harry said, quickly and quietly, hoping to calm Snips down before he woke the whole tower.

He succeeded in getting Snips to narrow his beady eyes at Harry and growl.

"I'm going to the library and searching for Flamel," Harry said. "You can either come or stay here with Ron."

Snips eyes narrowed further, but he jumped to Harry's shoulder all the same—and then nipped him on the jaw to properly express how much he disapproved of this venture. Harry winced but dropped the invisibility cloak back onto him, heading out and towards the library (without Snips' assistance, as Snips was once again being recalcitrant).

Snips' disapproval continued when it became clear that Harry was heading for the restricted section.

"It's the only place we haven't looked!" Harry quietly protested. Snips huffed and turned up his beak.

Snips' disapproval became justified when the first and only book Harry opened in the section screamed bloody murder, scaring him so badly that he slammed it shut, dropped it, and bolted out of the library, dodging away from Filch and down a side hall, finally coming to a halt in an unused classroom.

"That…was not…what is that?" Harry asked, peering at the other side of the room, where an ornate mirror rested against the wall. Snips _crr_ed worriedly, leaned back when Harry approached for a closer look….

Harry nearly leapt out of his skin when he looked into the mirror, spun around to an empty room, spun back—

Not only did the mirror show him, still under the invisibility cloak, but it also showed a dozen other people, so close he could have reached out and touched them—but when he tried, he could feel no one. They only existed in the mirror. One man looked like an older version of himself, while the redheaded woman next to him…she had Harry's eyes.

"Mum? Dad?" Harry breathed.

They nodded.

Harry stood, stunned, drinking in their appearances. Snips was equally taken with them, trying to reach for Harry's mom—Harry stepped up close to the mirror, not even realizing it, and Snips laid a tiny clawed hand on the mirror.

Harry's mom smiled at them both.

* * *

Snips, however, did not approve of taking Ron to find the mirror, nor did he approve of Harry continually sneaking out to look into it—the third night, Snips had gone to Ron's bed, despite his disdain for Ron's rat Scabbers (who, as far as Harry could tell, remained indifferent to Snips' existence).

The fourth night had Professor Dumbledore in the room, who told him that the mirror was called the Mirror of Erised, that it was dangerous, and that it was to be moved tomorrow and _don't go looking for it again_.

But Dumbledore's conversation had made Harry consider—he had said it didn't do to dwell on dreams, and Harry realized that he had been neglecting his friends to see echoes of the past.

He spent the next day playing wizard's chess with Ron while Snips watched, resolving to put the mirror far from his mind—but at the same time, also resolving to not forget the faces of his family.

It was probably the only time he'd ever see them, after all.


	7. In Which Dragons are Dealt With

**Chapter 7, everybody! In which dragons are dealt with and the characters discuss Americans calling soccer ****_soccer_**** and football ****_football_****—Australians do too, as I have been informed, since they also have Australian Rules Football, so that's cool. :)**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

The holidays had ended, the cold had not, and Harry was starting to have serious misgivings about being on the Quidditch team, what with Wood insisting on training in all sorts of nasty weather.

"We have to be ready for anything!" Wood had said. "They won't call a Quidditch match because of weather!"

Dean Thomas—when Harry had repeated what Wood had said in the dorm room that night—had pointed out that they would have called a football game because of weather, which had led to an entire debate between him and Ron on how Quidditch was not football, which somehow brought up how Americans were weird because they called football _soccer_ and something else entirely football, which then morphed into an entire impromptu discussion on various Muggle sports and _how did they even keep them all straight that's just nuts _that lasted past midnight.

Harry was very glad he didn't have anything pressing to do the next day.

Hermione begged to differ.

"Schedules?" Ron asked, looking at what she had handed him.

Which led into a huge discourse on how they had to start studying for finals _now,_ because if they didn't pass they wouldn't go on to second year—something that both Snips and the teachers seemed to agree with her on. Harry had found himself immensely busy, with no time at all to look for information on Snips _or_ Flamel.

And then Neville had come in, bound by the leg-locker curse—Harry had given him his last chocolate frog, he and Ron and Hermione (who had undone the leg-locker curse) told him how much better he was than Malfoy (who had cast the curse), and Neville had nodded gratefully and given Harry the card because _you collect them, right?_

And Harry discovered where he had heard of Nicholas Flamel before.

* * *

The upcoming Quidditch match had everyone on edge—if Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw, then they would be in the lead for the house cup.

Harry was on edge because he was worried about what Professor Quirrell might do.

Harry had, in Defense class, taken to sitting in the back of the class and close to the door, eyeing the man worriedly the whole time through. Flamel had made the Sorcerer's Stone, they read, and it seemed the right size to have come from vault seven-hundred and thirteen and was important enough to warrant such a defense as Fluffy.

And if Quirrell was one of the ones protecting the stone…the only thing he really needed was to find out what the other teachers had left, if they hadn't told each other how to get past their obstacles.

Which had led to a lot of debate about who could have helped to guard the stone and what they had left—Ron had suggested that Filch had been one of the guards and left tons of detentions to serve before they could move on, something that had prompted Hermione to roll her eyes in exasperation. They had finally put the question to Hagrid, who was still adamant about not divulging any more information.

"Well, Hagrid, we were just wondering," Hermione said finally. "Who it was that Professor Dumbledore trusted to guard the stone. Besides you, of course."

"So we know who not to worry about," Harry put in, sensing that Hermione was buttering him up. "I mean, we trust you completely."

Hagrid had blushed red and waved them off, but finally relented.

"Well let's see, there was me—and Professor Quirrell," Hagrid said, frowning a bit at that—he might not have been completely convinced that Quirrell was out to get Harry, but he had certainly seen how much Harry had been bothered by the notion. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout—an' Dumbledore did his bit, o' course….Oh yes, and Professor Snape."

"The old Potions professor?" Harry asked, as Snips looked up.

"Yeah—added his righ' before th' accident in the Potions lab."

"So he probably didn't have the chance to tell anyone what he did," Harry guessed.

"I'm willing to bet it was something to do with potions, though," Ron said.

"Not necessarily," Hagrid said, taking a swig of tea. "Professor Snape was after the Defense job as well—'e could have done somethin' along those lines."

"So you don't know what he did either," Harry said.

"Nobody knows what all everyone put in—except Dumbledore, of course. We're not allowed to discuss it with each other—or students," Hagrid added, eyeing them.

"This is just idle speculation," Hermione said. "After all, it is very interesting—like how at Gringotts they have various spells to protect the vaults."

"And dragons," Harry said, remembering his own trip.

Which led to a whole discussion about Gringotts and dragons and _did dragons really steal gold where did that whole thing about dragon hordes come from anyway_ which succeeded in taking his mind off of things for a while.

"Although," Harry said to Ron that night, petting Snips, dozing on his chest as he lay in bed. "If Professor Snape never told anyone what his part in protecting the stone is…there's at least one protection that Quirrell doesn't know about, and _can't_ find out about."

"So as long as that's a problem, we're fine," Ron agreed.

* * *

Ron may have been fine, but Harry wasn't—not when he found out that Quirrell had been picked to referee the next game.

The rest of the team assured him that they'd make sure nothing happened to him—Fred and George had told them Harry and Hermione's suspicions, and they had been quick to close ranks around their Seeker. If anything happened, Fred and George were to send the nearest bludgers Quirrell's way—worst-case scenarios involved bodily ramming into him.

All that worrying was for naught, as it turned out, since Dumbledore was watching the game—and as everyone was quick to point out, Quirrell wasn't about to try anything with Dumbledore right there. Harry was able to find the snitch in peace.

It didn't stop Fred and George from sending a few bludgers Quirrell's way, though.

* * *

The next interesting thing to happen involved Hagrid getting a new pet.

Well, maybe _pet_ was too strong a word.

"A _dragon,_ Hagrid?" Hermione squawked. "You live in a _wood_ house! Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Sure!" Hagrid said, beaming at the newly-hatched Norwegian Ridgeback. "I've always wanted a dragon—been readin' up on the little guy so I ken take care o' 'im. Isn't 'e just a beauty?"

A few weeks of helping Hagrid with the dragon later, and Harry was inclined to disagree. Hagrid was able to handle Norbert—what he had named the dragon—well enough, but Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't much able to help without getting seriously injured. Ron in particular had had to go to the hospital wing after a decidedly nasty bite.

Snips refused to have anything to do with Norbert at all. Harry suspected it was because he made a tidy mouthful.

Hermione, meanwhile, was adamant on one thing, and brought it up again when they visited Ron in the hospital wing—Norbert had to go.

"I've been reading everything I could on owning dragons, and according to what I've read, you can't," she said. "Owning one has been illegal for years—"

"Since the eighteen-sixties, when a Ukrainian Ironbelly got loose from its handler," Ron said. When the rest of them stared blankly at him: "What? My brother Charlie studies dragons."

That set off a spark in Harry's mind, one that he didn't need Snips' squeaks and points to fan.

"Ron," he said, patting Snips to get him to quiet down. "What if we asked Charlie to help? With Norbert."

Ron thought about it; nodded. "Yeah. Yeah I bet Charlie'd be happy to help—I just can't write to him right now," he added, indicating his bandaged hand.

"I can copy it down for you if you tell me what to write," Hermione told him, before looking at Harry. "We're going to have to convince Hagrid, though."

"We'd better start now then," Harry said grimly.

* * *

Strangely enough, Malfoy was key here—if only because he had jeered at Harry that he knew about the dragon. Telling Hagrid this, at least, convinced him of the importance of getting rid of Norbert—that, and the assurance that it was Ron's brother Charlie that would be taking care of Norbert. That had been the selling point, honestly, since Hagrid remembered Charlie from when he was going to Hogwarts and trusted him to take care of Norbert.

Even better: Charlie had written back and agreed.

Even worse: he wanted them to have Norbert on the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight the following Saturday.

It fell to Harry and Hermione to do so, since Ron was still in hospital, and after Hagrid's teary goodbye, he and she carted the crate containing Norbert up the numerous dark steps, carefully encased under the invisibility cloak, with Snips providing direction. Aside from spotting Malfoy getting into trouble with Professor McGonagall, the trip up passed without incident, and Charlie's friends picked up Norbert and flew him away at midnight.

It was on the trip down that they nearly had bad trouble.

Harry's yelp at Snips biting him hard enough to draw blood should have woken the castle—as it were, Harry managed to strangle the scream on the way out, glared at Snips, bouncing up and down on his shoulder. "What?"

"What? What is it?" Hermione asked, clutching her chest from where his cry had nearly stopped her heart.

In response, Snips dove for the ground—

Disappeared—

Reappeared, holding up the corner of something silvery.

"Oh man," Harry breathed, nearly losing his footing. "We almost forgot the invisibility cloak."

"That would have ended badly," Hermione squeaked, now progressing to thumping on her chest as Harry scooped up the cloak and Snips. Snips scrambled up to Harry's shoulder as he draped the cloak back over them, and directed them once again as they made their way down the stairs and to Gryffindor Tower.

They returned to their dorms without incident, Snips rooting in Harry's potion stores as he put his cloak away, putting a leaf against the bite mark on Harry's face when he got into bed.

"Thanks," Harry sighed, relief making him sink deep into the bed. Norbert was gone. Nothing left to worry about on that front.

* * *

Almost nothing.

"What?" Harry asked, staring at Neville, absolutely certain he had misheard.

Neville wouldn't look at him.

"I—I overheard Malfoy talking about getting you into trouble," Neville told him. "And then you weren't in bed last night when I came up—and you never showed up—and I thought it was like when Malfoy challenged you to that duel—I was just trying to find Professor McGonagall to tell her Malfoy was trying to get you into trouble, but I used the wrong door in the dark and then the Fat Lady was gone and then Filch caught me—"

Harry stared in shock, hating that his friend had ended up with detention because of him. It wasn't fair to Neville—he had just been trying to help.

It was why he was seeking Professor McGonagall out immediately after breakfast—asking Snips had him taking increasingly smaller steps towards her office, until finally he knocked on the door and was permitted to enter.

She looked up from the paper she was grading. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was wringing his shirttail, hating this but knowing he had to. "P-Professor? About—about Neville's detention—"

"Yes, he was caught out of bed after curfew," she told him. "I'm sure you realized that's against school rules."

"Yes I know but—it was my fault, Professor, don't punish Neville."

She looked up at him. "Explain."

Harry decided to go with a variation of what Neville thought, and told her about Malfoy challenging him to a duel.

"It was stupid," he said. "I—Malfoy had challenged me to a duel in the trophy room at midnight—I knew it was against school rules but I went anyway—realized I was being stupid and headed back to the tower—but Neville saw me, had heard me and Malfoy—he was trying to stop me, Professor, it wasn't his fault!"

Harry knew his voice had broke and he had gotten a bit too loud, and that his shirttails were a mess now, but he had committed and was now standing in front of her with shaking knees and sweaty palms. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay there looking at her looking at him.

She sighed finally, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"I want you to know I am _very_ disappointed," she said, looking at him. "Sneaking out after curfew—and for a duel, no less! If you were dead-set on such a thing, you could have contacted Professor Flitwick."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said quietly, lowering his head.

"I'm sure. Be that as it may, it does not absolve Mr. Longbottom of being out in the halls after curfew, so his detention still stands. You will be pleased to know that you will be joining him in detention, and thirty points from Gryffindor for such idiotic behavior."

Harry ducked his head further and gingerly made his way to the door.

"Mr. Potter," she said, stopping him; he looked back at her furtively, saw her taking her glasses off and folding them carefully. "I also want you to know that coming here and telling me this, with the intent to help your friend, is both a brave and noble thing to do. Five points to Gryffindor."

Harry hesitated…nodded finally, smiling. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome. I will be sending you the information on your detention sometime tomorrow."

Harry nodded again, left for the great hall, feeling light enough to be running on air. True, he had lost a total of twenty-five points and had a detention, but it was all for the right reason, he felt.

Neville seemed entirely baffled by Harry happily informing him he'd be serving detention too.

"But why?" Neville asked as Harry sat down, Snips crawling down his arm.

"I told Professor McGonagall that it wasn't your fault—told her about the duel, made it sound like it was last night instead of last semester—I actually tried to get her to take your detention away, but she gave me one too."

Neville still seemed thoroughly confused. "But _why?"_

"Because you're my friend, Neville," Harry told him. "And you shouldn't be getting into trouble because of me."

Neville spent the next few minutes being very overwhelmed, and Harry was distracted by a tugging on the sleeve of his robe; he looked down to see Snips, who turned and tugged a pastry that he normally didn't approve of onto Harry's plate.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked him; Snips nodded, turned up his beak when Harry offered him a bite, climbed back up his sleeve as Harry broke the pastry in two and gave half to Neville.

They still had detention, but Harry was certain the two of them together could make it.


	8. In Which Detentions are Served

**Chapter 8, everybody! Being the first of these chapters I post as a free elf! Yes, master has given Dobby a diploma! Dobby is a DOCTOR! :D**

**Moving on...writing this out the holes in the logic of this detention were big enough to drive the Knight Bus through. :\ And I _think_ Lumos is an early-on spell; if memory serves me it's one covered in the first game.**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Professor McGonagall informed Harry at breakfast the next morning that he and Neville would be meeting her in the Great Hall that evening for detention, and recommended not trying to stretch dinner out in an endeavor to avoid it. Harry nodded and went back to his porridge after she moved on to Neville.

He was about three bites in when he noticed the stares he was getting from Ron and Hermione.

"What?" he asked.

_That_ was the wrong thing to say—they both started talking at once, and it took a while for them to get untangled.

_"Detention,_ Harry?" Hermione blurted out.

"When was this?" Ron demanded. "And why didn't I get in on this? I thought you said that you got Norbert out scot-free!"

"We did," Harry said. "But Neville overheard Malfoy talking about Norbert, and he tried to find us to stop us, but of course we had the invisibility cloak, and then he gets caught out of bed and sent to detention, and since it was our fault it didn't seem fair to make him do it on his own, so I told Professor McGonagall a variation of the truth so she'd give _me_ a detention so it wasn't just Neville because that wasn't fair."

That came out in more of a blather than Harry had been intending, but hopefully he had gotten the pertinent information across. Snips, at least, was nodding.

Ron and Hermione still looked floored.

"So let me get this straight," Ron said. "You went and basically _asked_ for a detention?"

Harry considered it. "I suppose you could say it like that, yes."

"Mate, no offense, but that's the dumbest thing I ever heard."

"Well I couldn't leave him stuck with Malfoy—"

"Harry, I highly doubt it was only going to be Malfoy and Neville in detention tonight," Hermione cut in.

"True," Ron said. "Fred and George could be there too."

"You have to be caught first, Ickle Ronnie," one of the twins said, cruising by behind him.

"Ah, but he hasn't picked up that skill yet, has he George?" the second twin asked, ruffling Ron's hair as he passed.

"Not so, Fred—I suppose he'll pick it up eventually."

"Someday."

"In seventh year."

"Or after he retires."

"Did anyone ask you!?" Ron hollered after them.

"Look, it's _one_ detention," Harry said. "How bad can it be?"

* * *

Very, Harry discovered that evening.

Start off with Professor McGonagall handing Harry, Neville, and Malfoy off to Mr. Filch because she had fifth years studying for their OWLs to supervise. Continue with Mr. Filch leading them outside, bemoaning the banishment of the old punishments Hogwarts used to dole out—which, if any of what he said was true, made Harry very glad they had been phased out.

Things looked up temporarily when they were led to Hagrid's hut to be left in Hagrid's care, tanked quickly when Hagrid revealed they were going into the Forbidden Forest.

"We can't go in _there!"_ Malfoy protested. "I've heard stories about that place! There's—there's _werewolves_ in there!"

It was a dark day indeed when Harry agreed with Malfoy.

"Are you sure you don't want us weeding your garden or cleaning your house?" Harry asked, Neville nodding so hard he was probably giving himself whiplash.

"Now don' fret—you boys'll be with me an' Fang here," Hagrid said, indicating the big dog. His voice was thick, making Harry think that he wasn't quite over Norbert being gone. "An' under normal circumstances yeh wouldn't even be out here, but this 'ere ain't normal circumstances. C'mon."

There was a _lot_ of hesitation in following Hagrid into the woods—Harry finally grabbed Neville's hand and tugged him forward, told Malfoy to _come on_ because the monsters always got the person who strayed off by themselves (at least, that's what happened in Dudley's horror movies, although he felt no compulsion to share the source—it got Malfoy moving, at least).

The horror movie analogy deepened, he felt, when they came across a silvery pool of something thick and tacky—doubly so when Hagrid informed them that this was unicorn _blood_.

"Found one dead last week," Hagrid said, further sending Harry's surprise and elation at the concept of unicorns being _real_ crashing down. "Summat's been huntin' 'em, so we have to find it—and kill it."

"I—I'm sorry, you want _us_ to—_how?"_ Malfoy asked.

"You boys know how ta send up sparks, righ'?" Hagrid asked. "If you see something suspicious, send up sparks."

"Hagrid," Harry said, hearing Neville whimper next to him. "Wh-what if _we_ run into whatever it is that's killing the unicorns?"

"Hopefully yeh don't—righ' now I jus' want to find this one tha's been injured."

"Great," Malfoy said, nodding and looking a thousand percent done. "So you want us to go searching through the woods at night for a wounded unicorn, with whatever injured it still loose. Anything else in this _ridiculous scheme _I missed?"

"Well we'll be splitting up too."

Snips—who had been steadily grumbling through this whole ordeal, finally fell to some temptation and slapped his tiny claws against his face.

"Maybe you should go with Hagrid, Neville," Harry suggested, guessing that he'd much rather be with the gamekeeper than Malfoy.

"Oright—Harry, you're with Malfoy then."

"All right—but that means we get Fang," Malfoy said.

"Oright—jus' so yeh know, he's a bloody coward."

Malfoy looked like he had spotted a werewolf, topped off with him being coated in barbecue sauce.

"Hate ta do this ta yeh," Hagrid told Harry in an undertone.

"It's okay—and Norbert's okay too," Harry assured him quietly.

"Righ'," Hagrid said, clapping Harry on the back hard enough to make his knees buckle. "Let's get on with it then—d'you have watches? Good boys—we'll look for two hours and then I'll be getting' yeh back to the castle. Be careful, don' mess with anythin', something looks funny, yeh send up sparks. Oright?"

They all nodded, split up—Harry had to cast Lumos very quickly.

"This is ridiculous," Malfoy muttered, having also cast Lumos and now glaring at everything. "When my father hears about this—"

"This is your own fault, Malfoy," Harry told him crossly. "You were so caught up in getting me into trouble that you got yourself into a mess instead. I can't even—why do you hate me so much?"

"And what makes you think I care so much, _Potter?"_

"Oh you're right, I'm sorry," Harry said, waving. "You just sabotaging my potions, trying to get me expelled, and yelling insults at me is just your way of being friendly, is that it?"

"I _tried_ being friends with you! You'd just rather hang out with those filthy blood traitors and mudbloods—"

Snips suddenly shot out of Harry's hood, flashing for Malfoy's face and biting down hard on his nose.

"AAUGH!_ Get it off GET IT OFF!"_ Malfoy screamed, flailing back, wand flying off as he dedicated both hands to beating at Snips and trying to pull him off.

Harry had to work to peel Snips off, but finally succeeded, hugging him close and away from Malfoy, now flailing on the ground with his hands pressed to his face.

"Malfoy, I didn't want to be friends with you because you insulted my friend Hagrid, you insulted my friend Ron, and you picked on my other friends like Hermione and Neville," Harry told him. "You don't get friends if you're not _friendly,_ and you haven't been friendly in the slightest."

Malfoy glared at him, wiping blood from his nose. "You would never make it in Slytherin."

"The hat nearly put me in Slytherin," Harry told him flatly. "And if that's what you think you need to be in your house, I'm glad it didn't." he stuck his hand out. "Now come on—we've still got a while before we can get back."

Malfoy ignored his hand, found his wand, spent the next several minutes sniffling and rubbing his nose.

"That thing had better not be poisonous," he spat finally.

"He isn't," Harry assured him, returning Snips to his hood. Snips scuttled around to growl at Malfoy. "Are you okay now?"

"No," Malfoy said, still rubbing his nose and wincing. "That _thing_ mangled me."

Harry looked closely. "It's not mangled, and you did most of the damage yourself. Madame Pomfrey will fix you up."

"This is your fault, Potter."

"Whatever," Harry sighed.

The rest of the evening was actually pretty uneventful—at least up until they _did_ find the thing killing the unicorns, sucking on another of the poor creatures.

The centaur chasing the monster off and then basically telling Harry that Voldemort wasn't dead and was after the Sorcerer's Stone counted as a pretty major event as well.


	9. In Which Passwords are Puzzled

**Chapter 9, everyone! I'm feeling rather chuffed for getting another chapter out this month. :D**

**Dumbledore is based on my honestly favorite portrayals of him, that of the first two movies and the version evident in Saphroneth's fic ****_Harry is a Dragon, and That's Okay_****—I feel like people would have gotten the fourth-year line delivery they wanted if the original Dumbledore had lived through to the end of the films.**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to know how to handle the information Harry relegated to them the next day—that is, what Firenze the Centaur told him about Voldemort and the Sorcerer's Stone.

"But—he _can't_ still be alive—_no one_ survives a killing curse," Ron insisted. "Well, except you, Harry."

"So if I can, why can't he?" Harry asked, thinking back to what Hagrid had told him that first day—_don't think there was enough human left in him to die._

"And if he's after the Sorcerer's Stone, like Professor Quirrell," Hermione began, before trailing off.

"They could have teamed up," Harry pointed out. "Quirrell and Voldemort—"

_"Don't say the name!"_ Ron insisted.

"Why _not?_ Saying You-Know-Who over and over again is ridiculous, because until Hagrid told me I didn't _know_ who so—"

"Can we please focus?" Hermione snapped. "Harry—you said Firenze told you the thing killing the unicorns was You-Know-Who."

"Hermione, not you too…."

"Focus on the rest of my sentence, _please_."

Harry sighed, scrubbed at his head. "Yes—which means he's on Hogwarts grounds—"

"And probably after you, Harry," Ron said, freckles sticking out on his suddenly pale face.

"Probably," Hermione said.

Harry fidgeted—he didn't like the idea of a potentially-undead evil wizard after him.

"What do we do?" Ron squeaked. "I mean, we've got to _do_ something, but—"

"We don't have to _do_ anything," Hermione said. "Dumbledore is the only wizard You-Know-Who ever feared—so long as he's here, You-Know-Who won't dare go after Harry _or_ the Sorcerer's Stone."

Which, in Harry's mind, brought up the question of what exactly was going to happen to him come summer vacation.

"Maybe…." No—Harry trailed off before giving the thought voice—glanced at Snips hopping up and down on his knee and chittering at him. "What?"

Snips looked around, claws tapping against his beak, scuttled for a pillow that had suffered a bit more abuse than usual and was probably wishing for a quieter dorm, grabbed a bit of stuffing from it and held it under his beak before waddling around in doddering fashion.

"Dumbledore?" Ron guessed, earning him a point and squeak from Snips. "Yes."

"What about Dumbledore?" Harry asked, prompting Snips to point at him and bounce up and down, chattering and squawking.

"He wants you to tell Dumbledore, Harry," Hermione said, cottoning on. "If that really was You-Know-Who—he'd want to know."

"But wouldn't Hagrid tell him?" Harry asked.

"Did you tell Hagrid what Firenze told you?"

"Er…."

"_Tell Dumbledore,"_ Ron and Hermione both insisted.

* * *

Harry was still not too sold on this concept the next day.

"What if he gets upset with me for bothering him?" Harry tried.

"Mate, I don't think Dumbledore actually _gets_ upset," Ron told him. "Fred and George have done _so_ much over the years—Trevor Carson blew up a _teacher_ last year, for pity's sake! You're _fine!"_

"Harry, a teacher isn't going to get upset with you for coming to him with a problem," Hermione told him, taking his hand. "Come on, we'll all go together."

Ron hurried after them, all of them following Snips as he sat in Harry's hand and pointed every which way, directing them in the usual manner. It was quite a few twists and turns and roving staircases later that the ended up in front of a huge stone griffin.

"Is this it?" Harry asked Snips; when he nodded, Harry looked up at the griffin. "Now what?"

There was quite a bit of poking and prodding and tickling of the griffin before they came to the conclusion that it probably required a password.

"Does anyone know what the password is?" Harry asked.

Hermione's face was screwed up in deep thought for a long moment before she sighed in defeat. "We should have asked Professor McGonagall."

"That's a long haul back though—I'm sure we can figure this out," Ron said, stepping forward and poking the griffin's beak again. "Maybe it's themed—like how our password is always knights and chivalry and stuff."

"'Pig's snout' is chivalrous?" Harry asked, confused.

"Wasn't that something people ate back then?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry said, before jumping at Snips nipping a finger. "Ow! What?"

Snips started tracing his claws in big shapes in the air.

"Wait, those are letters!" Hermione said. "Can you start again?"

Snips obliged her.

"Sweets?" Ron asked, when they had figured him out.

"Wait—maybe that's the password!" Harry exclaimed, looking at the griffin. "Sweets!"

Nothing happened.

"Huh," Ron noised, sounding disappointed.

"Maybe it's not the password—maybe it's a clue to the password," Hermione said.

What followed was maybe an hour of them rattling off every single sweet they could think of, including a lot of wizard-exclusive ones from Ron that lowkey horrified Harry and Hermione (special mention went to cockroach clusters and acid pops).

The griffin finally sprang to life and jumped aside when Ron—taking cues from Snips—hit upon _lemon drops_. The excitement at getting the answer right sent them charging up the steps, Ron rapping on the door before they all remembered just where they were.

"Enter," Dumbledore called from within.

There was much fidgeting before they actually acted upon that invitation and pushed open the door.

It took Harry a minute to actually spot Dumbledore—his attention was immediately taken by the sheer amount of _stuff_ in the room, all shining and glittering and moving and making all sorts of noises. Ron and Hermione's soft exclamations told him that yes, this was as impressive as he thought it was. And with all the background noise, no wonder Dumbledore longed for socks.

He finally did spot Dumbledore, sitting at his desk and busy writing something. Dot something, put his quill in the inkwell, look up.

"Ah," Dumbledore noised. "Harry Potter. And Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, if I remember correctly."

"_Yes sir,"_ they chorused.

"Very nice to see you today, very nice—come in, sit down, have a lemon drop, I'll get some tea on."

They filed in, Ron accepting some of the sweets in the bowl proffered, Harry sinking into an armchair that had more give than he was expecting.

"Now the password makes sense," Ron said.

"Yes indeed," Dumbledore said, waving his wand at a tea set. "Although I commend your thoroughness in figuring it out—I shall have to put cockroach clusters on my list of future passwords."

Harry blinked, surprised, although it was Hermione who blurted "You knew we were out there, sir?"

"I did," Dumbledore said, indicating one of the spinning things. "Depending on who is at my door depends on how dreadfully busy I am."

Ron coughed on a laugh, but Hermione still seemed confused.

"You don't seem upset about us being here though," Harry said. "Sir."

"Nonsense, Harry," Dumbledore said, pouring the tea. "Every year there's one or two students who entertain themselves on the weekend by searching through the castle, seeking out secret passageways and the like and trying to puzzle out passwords. Your father and his friends especially—they seemed to spend every waking moment combing this castle from top to bottom. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were trying to make a map." He handed him a cup, looking pensive. "I rather hope they succeeded—a map of Hogwarts would be quite useful."

Harry couldn't help but perk up at the mention of his father.

"But I sense," Dumbledore said, finishing handing them cups and sitting back down. "That despite being a pastime you might entertain yourselves with in the future, that is not the reason for you finding yourselves in my office."

"Er…no," Harry said, sagging at Ron and Hermione's pointed looks. "Actually, we're here about my detention last night."

"Ah. Dreadfully sorry, Harry, but when Hagrid brought up his concerns with the unicorns, I was rather hoping it would be sixth or seventh years handling that detention. Fortunately or unfortunately, all the upperclassmen seem more concerned with their final exams than detentions."

"Er, no—see, I didn't exactly _mind_ it so much, but…while we were out there…um…."

Snips poked him from within a fold of his robes, and Harry forged ahead with his description of what happened that night. Dumbledore listened, fingers steepled, until about three minutes after Harry finished.

"I see," Dumbledore said then. "That is concerning."

"That's what Ron and Hermione said, sir," Harry said.

"Hmm, astute observations, the both of you. Well, I cannot tell you that Voldemort—" (Ron and Hermione winced) "is conclusively dead, for I myself do not believe that. Part of my reasoning is that the killing curse generally does not involve explosions. Although, it does bear asking the question of how he could have gotten on school grounds."

"We think Professor Quirrell's in on it," Ron put in, earning an elbow from Hermione.

"That is a grave accusation indeed. Is there anything you observed that would support that claim?"

Silence for a beat—Harry was almost certain it was surprise that Dumbledore didn't just dismiss them outright.

"We saw him cursing Harry's broom during a Quidditch match," Hermione said, hesitant. "I had been reading up on them, and he was focused on Harry and he wasn't blinking, and when his concentration was broken Harry's broom went back to normal."

"I see. I had heard that Professor Quirrell also caught fire that day—perhaps that was the cause for his lapse in attention?"

Hermione went red.

"I am not penalizing you, Miss Granger—that showed quick thinking on your part. Is there anything else you believe supports this accusation?"

"When the troll got in," Harry said. "Professor Quirrell's leg was injured—I think he was trying to get past—well…."

Dumbledore nodded. "Ah, I see you too have learned what's behind the door on the third floor."

They all stared blankly at him again. "Sir?"

"As you are no doubt aware, the third-floor corridor is strictly forbidden—so, naturally, at least one student a week has snuck up there to have a peek," Dumbledore said, waving a hand. "Curiosity _is_ a mainstay of youth, after all."

Harry was just a mite concerned and more than a little worried that he hadn't been using his spare time properly. "Okay…."

Dumbledore nodded. "On the positive side, this has reduced the number of incidents involving the Forbidden Forest this year. But since we've moved back to that topic—I wish to assure you, Harry, that you are not currently in any danger. I say _currently_ only because it is nigh-impossible to be certain of the future and I wish to have, as the Muggles put it, all my bases covered."

"But—" Harry started—hesitated, forged ahead. "What about the Sorcerer's Stone?"

"My goodness, you three are further along the mystery than the rest of the school, well done—I believe, then, if you know what is being protected, you have an idea of what is protecting it?"

The three of them nodded. "Traps set by the teachers."

"Including Professor Quirrell," Hermione put in.

"Ah, but he does not know what sort of traps the other teachers put in—just an idea of who put them in."

"Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall—"

"Professor Flitwick, Professor Quirrell," Ron listed.

"And Professor Snape, the old Potions professor," Harry said. "And Hagrid—he gave you Fluffy."

"Hmm, perhaps I should come up with something extra for the stone's protection," Dumbledore mused. "Although I do take some comfort in knowing you three are the only ones thus far to have gone from no knowledge at all to painfully close to puzzling it all out."

"To be fair, sir, it took us most of the year."

"Thank you for soothing an old man's pride, Harry. Very well, I will take your concerns into consideration—we have the advantage, at the moment, of having our suspicions while our target does not. In the meantime, I encourage you three to do nothing to tip Professor Quirrell off—if your suspicions are true, then it is most prudent to give him no reason to suspect you in return."

They nodded, since that seemed the wisest action.

"Very good. Now, I think we have neglected this spread long enough—incidentally, try the apricot jam, it's my current favorite. And Miss Granger, you seem to have a question."

Harry suspected from the speed with which Hermione pointed that if she had held in the question a moment longer, she would have exploded. "What does that do?"

"Ah—now that is a Forecaster; it tells the weather for the day with about fifty percent accuracy, which is more than can be said for some weathermen."

What followed was about an hour of Dumbledore telling them what the various things in his office did, and when they left it was with a few of the little trinkets and the assurances that he had more than enough.

"After a certain age, you end up with more than you know what to do with," Dumbledore told them. "So, I might as well get you three started on that journey." Look them over. "And while I will not tell you not to worry about the Sorcerer's Stone—since I understand that would be exceedingly difficult—I will tell you to not worry _as much_ about it."

"I think we'll be able to sir, thank you," Harry told him sincerely.

"Very good. Incidentally, should you three ever feel a desire to puzzle your way into my office again, my Saturday afternoons are generally free. And should you need a fresh mystery to distract you, I understand there's something odd about the tapestry on the fifth floor."

Harry grinned. "Thank you sir."

They exchanged goodbyes and parted ways, Ron nibbling on one of the biscuits from the tea tray as they went.

"So that went better than I hoped," Harry said, once they were some distance away.

"We _did_ tell you, Harry," Hermione said.

"We did," Ron agreed, polishing off the biscuit before checking his watch. "It's still a while before dinner—fifth floor?"

"Fifth floor," Harry agreed, Hermione nodding.

The rest of their afternoon was spent poking and prodding and examining the tapestry, Hermione running off to the library after dinner to see if she couldn't find some information on it that would act as a clue. Harry and Ron returned to the common room, playing chess and going over their conversation with Dumbledore until they had thoroughly exhausted the topic, and then when Hermione came back they exhausted it further.

Harry did feel better knowing that someone who _could_ do something about all this knew, and feel into a sounder sleep than the one he had last night.

Granted, it wasn't _much_ sounder, but it was an improvement.


	10. In Which Stones are Sorcered

**Chapter 10, everybody! First update of the year, and the decade for that matter—now let us hope it's not the last *bricked***

**Took some cues from the PC game for the obstacles here (hated the gnomes in the games). And it occurred to me that since Harry is going up against who he's expecting, he won't be caught flat-footed upon realizing it isn't Snape, so….And yes, I know "sorcered" isn't a word, bear with my puns please. ^^;**

**Thanks for the review, d8rkforcen1ght7! Aha, glad you can picture it so well. :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Exams were as strenuous as everyone had told them they would be.

Harry felt like someone had stolen his brain right before every exam, and he had to wring out what little information was left, especially with History of Magic. The rest he felt fairly okay about, but not enough to be calm about them until he got his marks back.

Potions, at least, he felt fairly certain of.

Defense against the Dark Arts, not so much—he tried to take Dumbledore's advice to heart about not tipping Quirrell off, but he found it very difficult to act natural with his scar aching every time he was in the same room as the man. That particular exam couldn't end soon enough in his opinion.

But finally—_finally_—the exams were all finished and they had nothing better to do than sit around the Black Lake and fret about marks, summer vacation (in Harry's case), and the persisting issue of Professor Quirrell and the Sorcerer's Stone.

"So we're all going to write each other over the summer," Ron said. "Maybe we can arrange it so we'll all be in Diagon Alley at once."

"Oh that'd be lovely—I'd love to have more time in the bookstores there," Hermione said, throwing a slice of bread into the water. A few fish nibbled at it before the giant squid claimed the slice as its own.

"Of course you would. Harry?"

Harry was absently rubbing his scar, which had not ceased aching even with being away from Professor Quirrell. "I'm not sure—my aunt and uncle aren't exactly…enthused about getting owls."

"I'm certain they'll get used to it," Hermione assured him.

Snips, meanwhile, tipped his head at Harry, blinking slowly like he had said something confusing.

"I don't know," Harry said, sitting up. "I can't help but worry about Professor Quirrell—if the Sorcerer's Stone is safe in Hogwarts…what happens during summer vacation? Would it be easier to get to then?"

"The school doesn't disappear just because no one's in it, Harry."

"We don't know that," Ron said. "We have whole corridors and stairs and doors disappear depending on the day—who's to say the whole castle doesn't vanish in the summer, and _that's_ why we're sent home?"

"Because it doesn't," Hermione insisted. "It would have been in _Hogwarts, A History."_

"Maybe," Harry noised—looked at Snips when he squawked and waved at Harry, then proceeded to act like he was stroking a long beard.

"We could ask Dumbledore," Ron said, pointing at Snips. Snips pointed back at him. "And then we can ask about the Sorcerer's Stone too—he said we could."

Harry considered this, nodded—followed the other two up to the castle and through the doors—

Stopped and ducked into a side passage when a decidedly _un_shaken Professor Quirrell went by—was he _humming?_

"He looked too happy," Ron said, once it was safe.

"Agreed," Harry said. "Come on—we need to get to Professor Dumbledore."

They ran into Professor McGonagall first though.

"What are you three doing indoors on a lovely day like today?" she asked.

"We need to see Professor Dumbledore, ma'am," Hermione said.

"Well I'm afraid he's away on business—"

It took about a minute for her to restore order.

"Now _hold it!"_ she said sternly. "Whatever it is, I'm certain you can tell your own head of house!"

They exchanged glances—

_"We know about the Sorcerer's Stone,"_ they said, looking at her.

Probably the wrong thing to say, considering Professor McGonagall dropped her books at that. _"How_ do you—"

"We figured it out months ago, it's in danger, we think Professor Quirrell is getting ready to steal it!" Harry blurted.

Still probably the wrong thing to say. "Now look here, you three—that is a _serious_ accusation concerning matters you shouldn't even know about—"

"Professor, _please_—when is Professor Dumbledore coming back?"

"He didn't say, it was ministry business, and I had better be seeing you three _outside_ enjoying the weather and _not_ leveling accusations, or discussing things you shouldn't, or running off to corridors you shouldn't be in!"

With them told, the three students (plus one small question mark) found themselves hustled back outside.

"Now what?" Ron asked.

"This is terrible!" Hermione said, wringing her hands. "_That's_ why Professor Quirrell's so happy! Dumbledore was the only wizard You-Know-Who feared, and with him gone—"

"The Sorcerer's Stone is wide open," Harry said.

Ron paced a bit. "Um…okay, we don't know that for _sure_—maybe Dumbledore listened to us and added fresh protection to it. Something different that Quirrell wouldn't know about."

Harry doubted it—it was in his experience that adults never quite believed kids when they protested or told them something, more inclined to believe other adults over them. No, he didn't think they could count on Dumbledore to have done as they asked.

Snips started squawking in pure unbridled irritation.

"Snips is right," Harry said. "We can't run the risk of Quirrell getting the stone—we have to go after him."

Snips slapped himself in the face so hard that he knocked himself clean off of Harry's shoulder.

* * *

They agreed that Quirrell would most likely attack the stone at night, when most of the castle was sleeping. They made sure to have their wands, and Harry picked up the owl flute and invisibility cloak he had gotten for Christmas.

Now, it was simply a matter of getting to the stone and hoping they were capable of doing so.

The first hiccup was Neville trying to stop them—that was surprising, and resulted in Hermione actually being very terrifying.

The second hiccup was that there was already a harp playing in Fluffy's room—Quirrell had already been here.

The third hiccup came when they dove down through the trapdoor and encountered the first of the traps, which had Harry lamenting not bringing Neville and _Ron_ being the levelheaded one in the face of mortal peril.

Hermione's bluebottle flames were very impressive, though, and were just as effective on malignant plants as they were rogue teachers.

The next issue was a very strange one, and one that Harry had only seen in fictional books.

"Um, hello," he tried.

The sphinx looked up from grooming her paw to evaluate them. "Hello," she said. "Mighty crowded down here tonight."

Harry nodded. "Did someone in a turban come down here before us?"

"Yes, he was very rude, but answered my riddle." She put her paw down and narrowed her eyes at them. "I trust you will be more polite?"

"Of course ma'am."

"Only a complete dunderhead would be rude to a sphinx," Ron said.

"Well reasoned," the sphinx said, before standing. "Now—I will ask my riddle. Through me is the only way forward. If you answer wrong, I will attack. If you attack me, I will attack. Are you ready for my riddle?"

"Um," Harry noised, raising a hand. "Is it one riddle for all three of us?"

"I suppose that's fair."

Harry nodded, looked to Hermione.

"Okay," she said, smoothing down her robes. "Okay—I can do this—I'm ready."

* * *

Ron and Harry had to eventually remind both Hermione and the Sphinx that they were trying to stop an evil wizard, although they promised the sphinx they'd ask Dumbledore about doing this again sometime.

"Please do," the sphinx said, waving. "It's nice to come across someone I can sharpen my wit instead of my claws on—most other sphinxes already know the answers to each other's riddles."

"Oh do tell," Hermione said.

"Later," Ron said, tugging her to the door. "After we're done with the current crisis."

The next several rooms involved flying keys (Harry chased down the one they needed on a broom), a labyrinth loaded with fire crabs and gnomes (Ron was very effective against the latter), a room full of doxies with different-colored keys around their necks (Hermione froze them all and took the keys easily enough), and a giant chess set that Ron was able to _mostly_ navigate them through, except for the snag of having to sacrifice himself for Harry to take the king. Harry told Hermione to take Ron back to the hospital wing and owl for help, and after a brief argument it was just him and Snips heading forward.

The next room had a giant troll that was fortunately unconscious, and then after that it was a room full of water and platforms and something that looked like evil octopi, mostly blasted to smithereens. Harry was starting to suspect that Professor Quirrell was starting to run out of patience.

The next room was fortunately bare of any monsters, and mostly involved Harry and Snips moving stars around on the walls to make the proper constellations. The rooms after that had the doors blasted off their hinges, but Harry paused long enough to note the different languages and mathematics scribbled on the walls.

Honestly, at this point Harry was torn between aggravation at all the rooms that Quirrell had obviously already progressed through and kind of chuffed that there were so many. At the very least, maybe it meant that Dumbledore had listened to them.

The next room had no doors to blast off, instead shooting up different-colored flames when Harry entered. On the table in front of them were a bunch of different sized and shaped bottles and a sheet of paper. Harry picked up the paper, read through it, reread it—looked at the bottles….

"These are all potions—well, mostly potions," he said, looking back at the line about mulled wine. "This one must have been the old Potions Professor's test."

Snips made an affirmative noise, looked over the paper again before immediately flying over to the smallest bottle on the table. Wrap his tail around it—

Squawk when the bottles all shrank down to that size and started moving rapidly around the table.

"Woah! Snips, are you okay?" Harry asked, running over. The potions finally came to a halt, and Snips, who had _not_ let go of the bottle during that time, laid there with claws dug into the table, scratch marks left behind in the wood. He made a nervous warble as Harry picked him up, tail still wrapped tight around the bottle.

"Well at least you still have this," Harry said, taking the bottle—the others resumed their normal size and color, but the one in Harry's hand still stayed small. "There's barely enough for one, though."

Snips waved him off, tugged the cork out, lapped up a little of the potion before indicating that Harry drink the rest. Harry did so—shivered at the feeling of ice dousing him—continued forward.

Snips stopped him once they were past the fire, tugging on his cloak pocket—Harry pulled the invisibility cloak back out, wrapped it around himself, Snips sitting on his shoulder as they continued on—

Harry quickly plastered himself against the wall upon reaching the end of the hall—Professor Quirrell was up ahead.

And Harry knew for a fact that invisibility cloaks didn't work on the particular mirror the professor was standing in front of.

Okay—now what?

It occurred to Harry then that—while keeping Quirrell from getting the stone was important—he had not actually given much thought as to _how_ he was going to achieve that once he was in the moment of truth. Pull out his wand, thinking….

Snips tapped him on the face, made a very familiar movement with his claw before stiffening. Harry's mind immediately snapped to earlier in the evening—

Slip his wand out from under the cloak, point it at Quirrell, and hiss _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

Quirrell's limbs snapped to his sides and he went down, stiff as a board and cursing floridly. Harry glanced at Snips again—

Quirrell finally shut up under several rapid hexes and jinxes. Harry watched, stiff from terror, adrenaline starting to leave him shaking….

Finally put up a few fingers for Snips to high-five.

Mission accomplished.


	11. In Which Summer Isn't a Vacation

**Chapter 10, everybody! In which we go from the end of first year into summer vacation…alas, poor Harry….**

**Not sure if I mentioned this before, but Dumbledore here is based more on my favorite depictions of him, not the least Saphroneth's fic ****_Harry is a Dragon and That's Okay. _****Also, got a good head of steam on this fic thanks to reading Wishweaver's fic ****_Realizations_****—it's incomplete, but it's 200+k long and finishes in a comfy spot so it's worth the investment. :)**

**And yeah—just take a look at the beginning of ****_Chamber of Secrets—_****book-Harry is a sarcastic little snot who will take the swing, consequences be hanged. And in this case, referencing ****_Don't Starve_**** and Tolkien.**

**Thanks for the review, d8rkforcen1ght7! Ah, yeah—at this point ANY sense would be good for those three. XD**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Harry was actually kind of surprised to run into Dumbledore on his way out, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.

As he was informed, Professor McGonagall had, upon sending them back outside, sent an owl to Dumbledore, who realized as soon as he was at the Ministry that he was needed back at Hogwarts (the owl caught up with him about then, wearing an extremely aggravated expression), immediately came back, had a brief conference with Professor McGonagall, confirmed that Quirrell had gone after the stone, and then headed down here. Ron and Hermione had already been sent to the infirmary, so all that really remained at this point was taking care of Quirrell and getting Harry out of there.

Dumbledore took care of the former while Professor McGonagall took care of the latter, thoroughly reading him the riot act the whole way up regarding jumping in without looking.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he told her when she paused to suck in a breath. "But I knew it was important that Quirrell not get the stone, and it didn't seem like anyone was doing anything about it—"

Professor McGonagall held up a hand. "I understand your reasoning, Mr. Potter, but understand that I had to confirm things first, and had to make sure you three didn't just run off spouting your theories. As it is, you lot are lucky you weren't killed." Put a hand to his shoulder when he sagged. "That's not to say I'm not proud of you for doing what you thought was the right thing—just temper your actions with caution from now on."

"I'll try, Professor."

* * *

The next day saw the school rife with rumors, something Harry noticed whilst apologizing to Neville for the night prior. Dumbledore's announcement at dinner "to clear up some confusion" didn't help matters—although the points _were_ nice and Neville disappearing under a cloud of cheering Gryffindors for earning the ten points needed to pull ahead of Slytherin was a scene that Harry was certain he'd never forget.

Professor Quirrell resigning from his post "due to unfortunate circumstances as well as exploding in a puff of smoke" was definitely questionable.

Other than that, the rest of the end of the year was quite pleasant, and even saw Gryffindor winning the house cup—and Dumbledore assured them all that the next time Hogwarts was used to protect a rare object by means of a long series of traps, he'd be certain to announce it earlier in the year so as to give everyone a fair chance to try for it (much to the chagrin of most if not _all_ the teachers).

Yes, Harry had no complaints about school, or the train.

* * *

It was when he got back to Privet Drive that things came to a screeching halt.

All of Harry's school things were quickly thrown under the stairs and locked in, and he got clocked over the head for refusing to let go of Hedwig's cage—he pointed out that Hedwig would _literally die_ being locked under the stairs and Uncle Vernon countered that _he wouldn't have owls flying everywhere_—Harry finally pointed out that if his friends or the school didn't hear from him they'd send someone like they did his first year, and _that_ finally got Vernon to let go.

That, and the deep bites that Hedwig left on his hand.

The first thing Harry did upon getting up to his room was to let Hedwig out and tell her not to come back under any circumstances, something she and Snips both protested—Harry pointed out that Uncle Vernon would most likely kill her if he caught her, tried to get Snips to go with her—

Was cut off by Aunt Petunia rapping on the door and telling him to get dinner ready.

Harry hated everything about this—it was as if Hogwarts had never happened, he was still the useless freaky boy that did the chores and cooked the meals. If it weren't for Snips hanging on to the inside of his shirt and the white owl locked in her cage, he would have thought he dreamed it all up.

The looks he was getting from Snips didn't help at all.

"It used to be a lot worse," Harry said, taking a bit from his slice of bread and giving it to Snips, who turned his beak up at this. "Come on, you can't be picky—that's all we're getting today."

If a weird bat-thing could look dumbfounded, Snips was doing it perfectly.

Hedwig nibbled on her cage, cross—gave him a look when he gave her a crust of bread.

"Don't be that way—it's only until September. Hopefully. Just don't get Uncle Vernon mad at you."

Snips started squawking—squawked further when Harry tried to shush him. "And I _know_ they'll all squash _you_ if they see you. Just—lay low, okay?"

Snips groused mightily at that, apparently convinced that this was Harry being irreparably dense for some reason, but Harry figured he'd get used to it.

Harry certainly had, unfortunately.

* * *

Summer continued much as summers had at Privet drive before Hogwarts had become a thing, with Harry working long hours in the hot sun and occasionally sneaking sips of water from the hose. Snips was miserable, being a color that absorbed heat easily, but Harry didn't dare let him be exposed and Snips refused to stay in Harry's room. In all honesty, Harry was quite looking forward to hiding in his bedroom while his uncle Vernon did his business deal with Mr. and Mrs. Mason tonight—his plan to be as quiet as possible involved going to bed early and sleeping _hard_.

The first sign his plans were to be derailed came from spotting a pair of big green eyes in the bushes.

Harry stared, reasonably certain his aunt hadn't gotten a bush with eyes while he was gone, mostly because that was _not_ normal. He toyed with sending a letter to Neville, who would know of such a plant—except he hadn't gotten any letters from _anyone_. Maybe Dudley was right, maybe nobody really wanted to talk to him.

As if the thought had summoned him, Dudley came out with the express purpose of taunting him with words and ice cream.

Harry tolerated this for a grand total of one minute. Prior to Hogwarts, he usually kept his mouth shut, reserved sharp turns of phrase for when he was assured of a quick getaway.

Hogwarts had changed things, however—had certainly given him the opportunity to develop his wit and his tongue, and with the worst punishment he had gotten being that detention in the Forbidden Forest, the one cardinal rule of _keep quiet and don't ask questions_ had slipped from the top of his priority list (indeed, he had been called down by one or two teachers for not asking _enough_ questions). So, really, he should have thought twice about answering Dudley when he asked, "What are you even staring at?"

Certainly should have thought twice about answering with "Figuring out which spell I should use to set the bushes on fire."

Dudley dropped his ice cream at that—must have really shook him. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Harry said, emboldened by Dudley's reaction and his own recollection of Hagrid's advice before boarding the train, about not letting his relatives know he wasn't allowed to do magic over the holidays. "Or I could turn the bushes into a great big dragon, or make them get up and walk—"

"Y-you wouldn't—mummy and daddy would be _so mad—"_

"Not if I had a bunch of walking talking bushes to protect me."

Oh wow Dudley had gone a very impressive color—Harry didn't think he had ever seen a whiter shade of pale.

Which had been the last straw in making Harry gesture at the bushes. _"Treeguardius entus maximus!"_

Snips, having also spotted the eyes in the bushes and having dove in to investigate, chose this moment to send up a screeching ruckus, rattling several branches and sending Dudley screaming into the house.

Harry took this opportunity to grab the ice cream Dudley had dropped, gestured Snips over as he started licking in earnest.

"Better get a good mouthful now," Harry counseled. "We're probably going to lose dinner over that stunt."

* * *

They did.

Possibly the only reason Harry wasn't punished more severely was because his cupboard under the stairs had his things in it and the Dursleys were too busy getting everything ready for that business meeting. Harry was dragged up to his room and locked in—something he didn't have too many complaints about, except for being sweaty and dirty. He managed to rub the worst of it off with his shirt and change into some fresh clothes, constantly shushing Snips and Hedwig's indignant racket.

Hedwig had glared at him, but Snips had refused, had made enough noise that Uncle Vernon stormed in.

"I thought I told you to shut up that bloody owl!" Vernon hissed.

"Um," Harry noised, quickly throwing his dirty shirt on Snips to hide him (and quietly apologizing). "She's…mad…because she's stuck here." A moment where he should have kept his tongue—"After all, this place isn't fit for man or beast."

Vernon clocked him one, started warming up his tirade about how put-upon they were to take care of Harry—was cut short by Petunia announcing the guests.

Instead, Harry was treated to a finger in his face and a sharp growl. "Not one. _Single._ Noise. Do you hear me?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself at the moment—Vernon grunted, stormed out, slamming the door behind him—Harry winced, heard the door lock. Yay.

On the positive side, he had every intention of staying quiet—now to convince his roommates.

In retrospect, he really should have sent them with Ron.

"Sorry," Harry said, pulling the shirt off of Snips, who hissed indignantly. "Now hush—if Uncle Vernon finds you, he'll squash you. You don't want that, now do you?"

Snips huffed, crossing his wings tightly and looking away. Harry sighed, figuring that was the best he was going to get, tossed his shirt away with the intent of opening the window and crawling into bed.

"Oof!"

_That_ made Harry and Snips both look in alarm, because there was nothing else in the room that really should have made noise—

Harry blinked at the odd creature pulling his shirt off its head, and reflected that his evening was about to go sideways in a most horrible fashion. He didn't know how, it just seemed like it would.

Mostly because he usually didn't get strange little creatures that identified themselves as "Dobby the House Elf" as visitors to his room, nor was he used to anyone devolving into a blubbering mess just from being asked to _sit down please_, or beat themselves for nearly saying things they said they shouldn't.

It was enough to get Vernon back in his room, hissing and spitting that Harry was on some very. Thin. Ice. Thin enough that Harry knew he was doomed even if the rest of the evening went smoothly.

It got worse when Dobby said that "Harry Potter _mustn't_ go back to Hogwarts!"

"What? _No,"_ Harry said flatly, gesturing to the door. "Did you see that? That big brute that was just in here? I _have _to go back!"

"No!" Dobby insisted. "Harry Potter is in terrible danger!"

"I'm in terrible danger _here_—Dobby—" Wince at Snips' bite, look—the little bat-thing fluffed his feathered crest out, jumped up and down with a paw raised in passible imitation of Hermione before pointing at Dobby.

Harry thought he got the message—_ask about him._ "Dobby…what, exactly, do you do? I mean, what do house elves do? How are they treated?"

"House elves tend to their families, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said. "Dobby cooks and cleans and is expected to do all without ever alerting the family to his presence, sir."

"And what you're wearing?" Harry asked, when Snips tugged on his shirt.

"Tis the mark of a house elf's enslavement, sir—a house elf cannot go free unless they are presented with clothes." Sniff. "My family is careful to not even give me a stray sock."

"And if you do something wrong?"

"Dobby must punish himself, sir!"

Harry pointed at the door again. "I'm a house elf here, Dobby—the only difference is I don't go free if I get clothes."

"Surely not, Mr. Harry Potter sir!"

"Trust me Dobby—whatever's at Hogwarts, I can handle it. Being here would be worse."

Dobby shook his head. "No no no—Harry Potter would be in mortal peril at Hogwarts!"

Mortal peril? "And would it affect just me? I have friends there, Dobby—won't _they_ be in danger?"

"Friends who don't even _write_ to Harry Potter?"

Harry didn't need Snips going still on his shoulder to alert him to the issue. "H_ow_ would you know that?"

Dobby hesitated—pulled out a ridiculously thick bundle of letters. Harry picked out letters from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid—even one or two from Neville and Professor Slughorn. "Dobby thought—if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, he wouldn't _want_ to go back."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what to call the emotions going through him at the moment, just that his voice was very calm. "Give me my letters, Dobby."

"No—Harry Potter _must_ stay away from Hogwarts!"

"Dobby—"

Snips apparently had enough—shot off Harry's shoulder with a screech, lit into Dobby, tail wrapping around the string binding the letters as he flapped frantically, snipping and squawking indignantly—

"No!" Harry hissed, trying to grab Snips away from a shrieking Dobby. "Snips, stop it—"

Vernon banged the door open.

Harry—and Snips and Dobby, and even Hedwig in her cage, he was vaguely aware—froze. Glance at the situation, at the color Vernon was turning—

"This wasn't my—" Harry started to say.

Harry's next clear recollection was looking up at the ceiling, Dobby and Snips fretting over him.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"The walrus man struck Harry Potter sir!" Dobby wailed, keeping his voice down this time. "I made him leave, but oh that was dreadful to see!"

Harry managed to sit up, leaned against the nearest wall. "So you see why I can't stay here."

Dobby nodded, wringing his ears. "But Harry Potter _can't_ go back to Hogwarts!"

"Yes, I can," Harry insisted. "Whatever it is, I can figure it out with my friends—if the danger is at Hogwarts, then my friends will be in danger too—or have you been popping into houses and warning everyone else too?"

"Harry Potter is as noble as they say, putting his friends' lives over his own!"

"It's not that drastic," Harry said. "It's called caring for others."

Dobby glanced at the door, seemingly at a crisis. "Harry Potter mustn't go back to Hogwarts, but Harry Potter _can't_ stay here!"

"I know," Harry said—looked down at Snip's barking.

Once he was assured of the attention, Snips pulled a letter out of the bundle—one from Ron.

Whom, Harry recalled, had offered for Harry to come spend the summer at his place.

"Here!" Harry said, snatching the letter and holding it out to Dobby. "My friend Ron's place—can you get me and my stuff there? I'll be safe there, his family's a bunch of wizards—and you have to at least let me warn my friends about Hogwarts, _please,_ Dobby."

Dobby hesitated—searched Harry's face….

Nodded finally.

Harry gusted a sigh of relief. "_Thank you,_ Dobby—my stuff's under the stairs." Hesitate—"Um, _can_ you get me out of here?"

"Of course sir—I'm an elf," Dobby said, like this was commonplace knowledge.

Harry nodded, beaming. "Thank you, Dobby—I promise, if you do this for me I'll be _extra_-extra careful."

"And not go back to Hogwarts?"

"I can't promise that one, Dobby—but I will promise that I'll tell Professor Dumbledore as soon as I can—if anyone can stop horrible things happening at the school, he can."

Dobby fidgeted, glanced at Snips growling at him—nodded finally. "Dobby will be right back with Harry Potter's things."

"Thanks—" Wince when Dobby disappeared with a crack.

"He's probably not coming back, is he?" Harry asked Snips, who shrugged.

The answer came moments later when Dobby appeared again, this time sitting on Harry's school trunk.

"Is this all of Harry Potter's things?" Dobby asked.

"All that matters," Harry said, gathering up the letters, Snips, and Hedwig's cage. "Um, how does this work?"

Dobby patted the trunk, indicating that Harry sit next to him. Harry did so, gave the room one last cursory glance to make sure he didn't miss anything.

And then blinking in disorientation when—one sharp crack later—he found himself outside, in the dark, looking up at a building that had to be held together with Divine Ordinance and positive thinking. Also possibly magic.

"This is the Weasley house, sir," Dobby said—squeaked in surprise when Harry hugged him.

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said, with feeling—and then had to calm Dobby down when Dobby started sobbing about having done _the great Harry Potter_ a favor.

Dobby finally left when he said his family was summoning him—Harry told him to be careful and assured him he'd do the same. Square his shoulders—drag his trunk up to what looked like the door (but you never knew with wizard houses, he supposed).

Ron answered on the third round of knocking.

"Blimey! Harry!" Ron yelped.

"So I'm really hoping one of your letters said it was all right to come over," Harry said, getting ready to launch into an apology for coming so late and with no advanced warning.

Fred cut him off. "Merlin's beard, Harry! What happened to you?"

Harry really had no idea how this must look, him standing there in the dead of night with his school trunk, owl cage, and nearly a month of letters in hand. "It's a long story."

The boys parted to let their mother through—Molly Weasley looked him up and down sharply before herding him in.

"You can get started over tea," she informed him.


	12. In Which Harry Burrows In

**Chapter 12, everybody, in which we document the rest of Harry's summer vacation…hope you all are doing well, and may all your favorite fanfics update during this trying time! :)**

**Ephion-coronet, thanks for the review! It did—it surprised me when it happened too, because my intent really was to do the canon rescue like in the books, but I like how this turned out better. :D Very true—and alas, poor Snips….**

**Thanks for the review, guest! These are good questions….**

**Thanks for the review, guest! I do too….**

**Thanks for the review, guest! Yes….**

**Thanks for the review, guest! No he doesn't….**

**Thanks for the review, guest! Very true….**

**FaolenBookWolf, thanks for the review! Thank you, glad you like it—wasn't sure how this fic would be received, but I'm glad others are having fun with it too. :D Oh yes I'm so tired of bashing of characters so none of that in this fic, thank you. ;v;/**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Molly Weasley, the Weasley family patriarch, was about as no-nonsense as she appeared.

Within five minutes, despite Harry's protesting, she had him sitting on the counter next to the sink, Percy holding an illuminated wand over his head, Snips (whom she had taken in stride) shuffling out various ointments from a basket she had retrieved, her clucking at Harry's face as she applied said balms and telling him _why don't you start from the top, Harry dear._

Harry glanced at Ron and the twins—all three of them gave him a thumbs-up, prompting him to explain just how he found himself outside the Weasley's home in the middle of the night, glossing over how he ended up with two shiners by saying he tripped on the way up—or tried to, at least; Snips bit him hard when he did.

"Ow! Fine, Uncle Vernon kind of overreacted at seeing a house elf," Harry amended. Snips glared at him with a low _crrr_ but otherwise didn't continue.

At least half of the eyes on him didn't look like they believed that story, but they all had bigger parts of the story to focus on.

"No wonder you weren't answering us," Ron said. "I was writing you almost every day!"

"Ickle Ronnie thought you were mad at him," George said.

"Can't imagine why," Fred said.

"Would have thought you'd at least answer _our_ letter."

"Went to all the trouble of glitter and everything."

Harry resolved to open any letters from Fred and/or George outside or over the sink from now on.

"Can't imagine anyone sending a house elf to do that though," Percy put in. "It's poor wizarding form, at least."

"Yeah, I'm not entirely certain I understand house elves?" Harry said.

"Really rich, old, and powerful wizarding families have them," Ron said, looking like he was still a little hot at the state Harry had arrived in. "I bet you anything Malfoy did it."

"_Ron,"_ his mother scolded, before adjusting Percy's arm and giving Harry's face the once-over. "I think we got the worst of it dear—down you get, the tea's just about ready."

Harry blinked a few times, both to check the damage and in surprise at her lifting him down to his feet. "Thanks—that feels loads better."

"You know Harry, I'm actually a little sore you turned up like you did," Fred said as they sat down at the scrubbed wooden table.

"Me too," George agreed. "Another couple of days and we were going to steal the car and come after you."

Percy gave them a disparaging look.

"Now don't look at us like that Perce, you were going to run interference."

Harry looked at Percy, who noticed and shrugged. "I was actually acting as voice of reason," he corrected. "I figured there was a logical explanation for why you hadn't written back." His expression went flat and distant. "House elves are not a logical explanation."

"Not at all," Mrs. Weasley said, floating mugs of tea and plates of pastries in front of them all before sitting down herself. "I'll ask Arthur when he gets back in the morning about looking into that."

There was a moment of silence, both before and during the initial digging in.

"What about there being danger at Hogwarts?" Ron asked.

"Perhaps we _shouldn't_ step up our game, George," Fred mused.

"Professor Dumbledore should be alerted in any case," Percy said. "Sooner rather than later."

"Not tonight though," Mrs. Weasley said. "It's late, and I'm sure we all had more than the usual excitement—it'll be to bed with you all after you finish here."

Ron nudged Harry. "You can bunk with me."

"Um—I mean I can take the couch, or something, if it's…I know I kind of dropped in," Harry said.

Ron gave him an even look. "Harry, I cleaned my room for this—you're kipping in my room."

"Yes, he was very industrious about it," Fred said.

"Despite the mishaps," George said.

"Fred and George didn't help," Ron grumbled.

"We were expecting you sometime this summer anyway, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said. "And we understand why you didn't owl ahead, so don't worry."

Harry ducked his head at that.

After tea and biscuits, Mrs. Weasley vanished the lock on Hedwig's cage, allowing Harry to let her out into the night—she circled once, hooting gratefully before disappearing into the blackness.

That done, Harry followed Ron upstairs and into his bedroom.

"Mum transfigured that one," Ron said, pointing to a bed against the wall, opposite a bed in a corner heavily decorated with posters for a team called the Chudley Cannons. "And she did a perch for Hedwig and a little bed for Snips."

"She didn't have to do all that," Harry protested.

"Lay off it, Harry—once Mum gets on a tear you can't stop her." Crawl into his own bed, gesture at the other. "Go on then, Harry—we can get started on everything tomorrow."

Harry nodded, crawled into the other bed, noting its plushy feel—Snips had already dived for his own basket, fluffing up the tiny pillows inside before burrowing under a blanket.

Harry was asleep soon after putting his glasses on the table.

* * *

Harry hadn't been entirely certain what to expect from Mr. Weasley, was a tad nervous about meeting him the next morning.

He needn't have worried.

After Mr. Weasley had gotten over the initial shock of having an extra kid (Fred and George lamented that they hadn't thought ahead and dyed Harry's hair red), he was very quick to quiz Harry on various "Muggle artefacts."

"Dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts division of the Ministry of Magic," Ron told Harry. "He loves Muggles, thinks they're fascinating."

Harry had to agree that some things _were_ fascinating, but wasn't sure about being confronted with the fact that, thanks to the Dursleys, he really didn't know as much about some things as he should.

He had the feeling he wouldn't have known the exact function of a rubber duck even without the Dursleys, though.

Mr. Weasley seemed concerned about Dobby too.

"_Very_ unusual, definitely poor form," he said, nodding pensively, eyes distant in the way Percy or Hermione got when sorting through their mental copy of the Hogwarts rulebook. "Not _entirely_ certain about any legal action you could take, since it's hard to trace house elves to their families…I'll talk to Rupert about it."

"I don't want to cause any trouble," Harry said.

"It's no trouble, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said. "If someone sent their house elf to warn you off of going to Hogwarts, that could be taken as a threat."

"It's serious and would have to be addressed legally, period," Percy said. "Reporting it is the responsible thing to do."

"It certainly is," Mr. Weasley said. "Don't worry about it, Harry, we'll get it squared away. Now, about what you were telling me about a VCR…."

* * *

With that squared away, Harry decided that his first order of business was to address the bundle of letters Snips had retrieved. As he pointed out to Ron, if he and his brothers were willing to come barging after him, he was certain that everyone else might have been worried.

Honestly, he was more than a little touched that they were.

So, after breakfast, he and Ron set up on the living room floor, sorting through the stack of letters. Harry was pretty sure that the only time he had seen more was that Sunday all his acceptance letters had shot out the fireplace.

"So you don't actually have to respond to any from me," Ron said, sorting several into a pile. "And I can pretty much tell you what they all say."

_"Hey Harry, you can come over,"_ George said from the table, working on something with Fred.

_"Hey Harry, haven't heard from you,"_ Fred rejoined.

_"Hey Harry, we're getting kind of worried."_

_"Hey Harry, if we don't hear from you soon we're storming the castle and getting you."_

"Will you _stop?"_ Ron asked.

Sorting through the rest took the better part of half an hour, and the rest of the morning was spent reading the letters and then writing up replies to everyone, sorted by order of _most likely to pull a Weasley._ Percy, sitting in a nearby armchair and reading some of his summer assignments, looked up and pointed out that a letter to Dumbledore should be on that list, and offered the use of his owl.

"From the looks of things, that's a lot of flying for Hedwig to do," he pointed out.

Hedwig fluffed up a little at that, like she didn't appreciate the implication, but subsided a little when Harry pointed out that Percy was just worried.

To be fair, there _were_ a lot of letters.

In addition to the letter to Dumbledore, Harry had letters from Professor Slughorn, Hagrid, Hermione, Neville, one from Dean Thomas, one from Seamus Finnegan, and a smattering of others from students he was friendly with to reply to. There was even two that looked official—one from Hogwarts and one from Gringotts.

"The Hogwarts one is your marks—we got ours last week," Ron pointed out as Harry turned it over. "You should be fine—you have to be with Hermione and Snips on us. Betcha ten galleons her letter is her harping on starting the summer homework early."

"If you get it out of the way early it's fresh and you have a guilt-free summer," Percy said, not looking up from his book.

"That's what _she_ said."

It was, when Harry opened the first of her letters—by letter three he bumped Hermione up to top priority-response, considering she was about as fretful as Ron had been. Ron was also right about the marks—the only poor one was History of Magic, once he got the grading system explained to him.

"What it is," Percy said in his best prefect tone, looking up from his book to gesture a little. "Is O is for Outstanding, and that's the highest mark you can get. E is for Exceeds Expectations—"

"Which George and I should have really gotten, seeing as how we showed up," Fred said.

"And your grades should have been _higher,"_ Mrs. Weasley put in.

Percy waved them all off. "So the last passing grade is A for Average. After that it's P for Poor, D for Dreadful—"

"And T," George said.

"For?" Harry asked.

"Troll," Fred said.

Harry looked at Percy for clarification.

"Yes, well, if Fred and George have avoided Ts all this time with their proficiency for pranks, you're likely not in any danger of the grade yourself," Percy assured him.

"There's actually a grade called _Troll,"_ Harry said.

"Yes," Percy said, going back to his book. "But you sound like you did all right—just apply yourself a bit more in your weaker subjects this year."

"Or do what we do," Fred said, embracing his twin.

"Learn to stop worrying," George rejoined.

"And embrace your inner genius."

"And drag him to the exams next time," Mrs. Weasley scolded.

* * *

They broke for lunch, Harry sending off Hedwig afterwards with the first round of letters, promising to send her with more when she came back if Hermes couldn't take all of them. Most of those letters had varying accounts of why he wasn't able to respond—the less urgent letters would probably just be prefaced with _sorry I was busy _or _sorry I got caught up in something_, but the initial group at least had some idea of what happened with Dobby.

After lunch, Harry tackled the less urgent letters—and, when he got to Fred and George's, decided to open that one in particular outside.

That turned out to be the smart option—he came back to the door, ears ringing, unsure if he should cross the threshold and risk bringing the mess inside.

Ron honestly looked like he was choking himself trying not to laugh at his friend.

"All right there, Harry?" George asked, having taken up position by the door along with Fred to see the damage.

"We're trying to come up with a better name for it besides _the glitter howler,"_ Fred said.

"Don't try brushing it off—we tested it on Perce, it multiplies if you do that."

"You have to blow it off with a wind spell," Percy sighed, looking aggrieved.

Fred and George nodded. "We figured we'd make it the one thing no one would want to do."

"It starts dazzling if you try to rinse it off," Fred added.

"And changes colors if you try to vanish it."

"We're wanting to figure out how to make it sing show tunes—"

"But we haven't nailed that one down out yet."

"I'd like to be not glittery now," Harry said.

"Here, Harry," Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"Remember you got to blow it off, Mum," Fred reminded her.

All the glitter blew straight back into the yard with a flick of Mrs. Weasley's wand. "And you couldn't get above an A in Charms because?"

"Professor Flitwick didn't test our glitter skills," George said simply.

"Shame, that," Fred agreed.

* * *

Once the letters were finally finished and sent off and the glitter was banished ("Banished! That's what we'll get the show tunes in on!"), Harry and the Weasley boys were sent out for fresh air and to de-gnome the garden.

Harry was only vaguely aware of what wizarding gnomes were thanks to that little maze last year, but it was interesting to see just _why_ Ron was so good at dealing with them.

"What you do is just catch them, spin them around a lot so they're too dizzy to find their way back, and then fling them over the wall," Ron explained. "They come back every time, but it keeps Mum happy. Pretty sure Dad puts food out for them though, he thinks they're funny."

Harry decided to reserve opinion for when the sound of a gnome spotting him _didn't_ startle him badly—the ones at Hogwarts had left an impression.

Ron took him on a tour of the grounds once the gnomes were all teetering around dizzily on the other side of the garden (Fred and George had won the gnome-tossing competition, although they said honorable mention went to Harry for flinging the one that had bit his thumb fifty feet). Points of interest were the homemade Quidditch pitch ("We have to stay under the treeline just in case") and Mr. Weasley's shed, overflowing with junk ("He brings it all home from work"). It was all overgrown and messy, a far cry from the Dursley yard, and Harry loved the looks of it all.

Despite quietly filing away the little jobs that he was sure he could do to make up for his inconveniencing them.

They went in to wash up after that, Harry offering to help Mrs. Weasley with dinner.

"Aren't you a dear," she said, patting him on the head. "But I have this, don't worry."

"Are you sure I can't help?" Harry insisted.

"Well, if you're in need of something to do—put some capers in the salad, dear."

"That's that thing in Muggle mysteries, right?" Ron asked.

"It's also a tiny pickle you can put in salads," Harry said, adding a few to the salad.

Ron sampled one. "Okay, my salad is going to need extra capers—can I have the jar when you're done?"

Harry finished and handed it over, looking expectantly at Mrs. Weasley.

"Have you finished your summer homework yet?" she asked.

Now _Ron_ was very eager to help with dinner.

* * *

The rest of Harry's summer was easily the best he ever had.

Summer homework was finished early off, with Harry and Ron sitting at the kitchen table with Fred, George, and Percy, at varying stages of completion, Mrs. Weasley bustling around the house and Ginny, the youngest, occasionally peeking into the room and slowly getting over her nervousness around Harry. Snips busied himself with grading everyone's papers, to the twins' consternation and Percy's amusement.

After homework was squared away, the rest of the summer was a blur of playing Quidditch, exploring the surrounding area, and tackling assorted chores. Evenings after dinner were spent playing chess, listening to the Wizarding Wireless, and—once Harry stumbled upon them—reading through Mrs. Weasley's potions books.

"You know you don't have to study during summer, right?" Ron asked him one night.

"If no one makes you do it, it counts as fun," Harry told him.

"Ah…."

_This_ started a new action during the day—specifically rainy days where they couldn't go out—working through some of the simpler and useful potions under one of the elder Weasley's supervision. Percy would work on a more advanced one, citing the importance to his upcoming year, and Snips as always monitored all of them to make sure they were doing it right.

Harry was also learning knitting while at the Burrow, which he thought to be useful for a number of reasons. Currently his main goal was figuring out how to knit a nice pair of wool socks for Dumbledore for Christmas, although his first several attempts ended up looking like weird shapeless lumps. Fred and George salvaged these, stuffed them and sewed buttons onto them; the rest of Harry's stay was treated to these creations sitting on random steps or shelves, to Snip's consternation.

Harry added yarn, needles, and a knitting book to his shopping list though. And maybe some new clothes; even with learning how to adjust his clothes to his size (with much tutting from Mrs. Weasley and dark mutterings about the Dursleys), he was starting to see that he needed proper clothes and not hand-me-downs that didn't even remotely fit, even with him putting on a few pounds with Mrs. Weasley's cooking. They'd have to be hidden from the Dursleys, but he could manage.

Snips had also put on some weight under Mrs. Weasley's care, but he didn't have to worry about clothes so much. He _was_ about double the size he had been when Harry and Ron had first found him though, which led to a deep discussion retreading the old ground of _what is Snips, really_ (the Lovegoods down the way had several suggestions, and Mr. Lovegood offered to look into his contacts to find something).

Soon enough though, their new supply list came in, and it was off to Diagon Alley with them. Harry had seen the car, had been taken for a ride down to the Lovegoods in it (although they walked just as often, firstly to see the dirigible plums and after that to hang out with Ginny and her friend Luna, also starting this year), and he had been puzzling how the Weasley family plus one would fit.

As it turned out, that wasn't a problem for this day.

"We'll travel by floo, it'll be easier than taking the car," Mrs. Weasley said, grabbing a flower pot by the mantle. "Hmm, have to pick up more while we're out. Here you go, Harry, you go first."

Harry blinked at the pot, which seemed filled with ash. "Um, what?"

"Oh sorry Harry—I forgot you've never travelled by floo before," Ron said, looking sheepish.

"Oh that's right—well it's very simple, dear," Mrs. Weasley explained. "You take a healthy pinch, throw it in the fire, say where you want to go, and then step in. Here, Ron, you show him."

Ron nodded, took a pinch, walked up to the fire, tossed the pinch in while saying _"Diagon Alley!"_—

Vanished in a flare of green fire.

Harry was going to be brutally honest right now, nothing about what he saw motivated him to follow through with the action, was probably the reason he stuttered on _Diagon Alley_ when throwing in his pinch of floo powder.

Getting a mouthful of ash on the way in didn't help.

Also, Harry was of the opinion that floo travel was _not_ even remotely pleasant, he spent most of the spinning sickening trip wishing he was anywhere else, didn't stick the landing, instead laying where he tumbled and hoping the room stopped spinning soon.

Snips nipping him on the chin motivated him to move a little faster, sit up—

Take stock of his situation.

"Snips," Harry whispered—because suddenly finding himself in a room with shrunken heads and skulls and other nasty things kind of required that reaction. "Where are we?"

Snips chittered, tugged on his shirt collar before pointing for the exit. Harry staggered upright, started for the door—

Snips chittered more frantically, flailing around before darting for a cabinet and tugging the door open—Harry ducked in, made to pull the cabinet all the way shut—stopped at Snips snapping his tail on his wrist. Harry hissed—

Froze when Malfoy came in, along with a man that could only be his much-touted father.

Harry exchanged nervous glances with Snips, had a hard time breathing through what sounded like the elder Malfoy moving illicit goods (although he retained enough sense to file that away to mention to Mr. Weasley later), heart nearly stopped when Malfoy approached the cabinet, almost fainted when they did finally leave.

Snips waited, tense…finally tapped Harry on the face and pointed for the door.

Harry was more than willing to oblige.


	13. In Which Shopping Gets Done

**Chapter 13, everybody! Prepare yourself, not only am I back on my big computer after two months, I actually got a decent head of steam on this so we're good for a couple of weeks. :D**

**Also, show of hands, who else didn't realize at first that Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were both puns?**

**By the way, Harry's wardrobe now resembles Mabel's from _Gravity Falls_.**

**LadyJaeza, thanks for the review! Glad to know you're enjoying the fic enough to have read through it four times! :D And no worries, we've all done that at least once. Thank you, it's nice to be free. ;v;/ And horde socks *bricked* And glad you like Snips, the tiny Petrie-helper who may or may not be our old Potions professor. ;D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Harry's first impression upon stepping out of the dingy store—Borgins and Bourke's, according to the sign—was that he had stumbled into an evil version of Diagon Alley.

"Snips, where are we?" Harry hissed.

Snips scurried to the top of Harry's head, looked around—dropped down to his shoulder and pointed. Harry hurried off in the direction he indicated, trying not to walk _too_ briskly and attract suspicion.

He still attracted attention though.

"Blummin' 'eck, what _is_ tha'?" a witch asked, spotting Snips.

"Uh—en—enchanted direction-finder!" Harry blurted, kicking it into high gear. "Great if you get lost a lot!"

"Well where'd you buy it—oi, at least tell me the store!"

Harry wasn't going to, Harry was going to run until he hit something familiar—

And then he did.

"Harry! What're you doing down 'ere?"

"Hagrid!" Harry blurted, hugging the giant of a man in relief. "I was at the Weasleys and I was supposed to use the floo but I never used it before and now I have no idea where I am I'm supposed to be in Diagon Alley but—"

"Oi, Harry, take a breath," Hagrid counseled, dusting Harry off. "You ended up in Knockturn Alley—come on, Diagon's _this_ way, shouldn't take but a mo'…."

Harry could have melted in relief when Hagrid led him back to the familiar bright streets of Diagon Alley.

And, now that he was safe, he couldn't help the curious look back. "Knockturn Alley?"

"Aye, you don't want to be goin' down there," Hagrid said, still trying to get soot off of Harry. "Load of dark wizards shop there. Rotten place."

Harry blinked. "Then wait a minute—what were _you_ doing down there?"

"Getting' flesh-eatin' slug repellant—they've been eating up the school cabbages. There now, I think we got the worst of it—you said you were meetin' the Weasleys?"

"Yeah," Harry said, looking around. "Um, Hagrid—where do you go when you floo to Diagon Alley?"

"There's a setup right near the Leaky Cauldron—c'mon, that'll be where they'll be I bet."

Hagrid gave Harry a ride on his shoulder to help spot the Weasleys sooner, should they be out and looking for him—headed straight down the middle to avoid the signs, Snips perched on Harry's head and similarly looking. Harry would have thought they'd make a strange sight, except with wizards you really did have to be a certain level of bizarre to make a scene.

Ron frantically running along the alley probably got close though.

"Ron!" Harry bellowed, waving. "Ron over here!"

_"Harry!"_ Ron yelped, dashing over as Hagrid lowered Harry back to the ground—and then tackling Harry in a hug before bouncing back. "Fred and George came through, asked where you were 'cause you went ahead of them, and when Mum and Dad came through they realized you must have gone though the wrong grate—Merlin, Harry, where _were_ you?"

"I came out in some shop on Knockturn Alley—I'll tell you later, there's something I need to tell Mr. Weasley. Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up at his friend.

"No problem, Harry," Hagrid said. "You lot swing by the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, maybe—I'll be gettin' a bite to eat before heading back to Hogwarts. And I haven't forgotten about you, either," he said to Snips, squeaking at him.

Ron and Harry thanked Hagrid again, which was about the time the rest of the Weasleys arrived and Harry was able to tell his story. As he suspected, Mr. Weasley was keenly interested in the idea of Mr. Malfoy trying to avoid getting into trouble in a raid, and the whole hidden compartment Mr. Malfoy had mentioned.

The twins had other focuses.

"Lucky," George muttered as soon as Mrs. Weasley was out of earshot. "Mum won't even let us take a _peek_ down Knockturn Alley."

"Describe it to us," Fred asked. "In detail, if you don't mind."

"Dingy. Dirty. Pretty sure people have been murdered there," Harry said. "That Borgin and Bourke's had shrunken heads and skulls and mummy hands in it—it was all pretty creepy."

"Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm," Fred noised, nodding. "Dirty, dark, and dangerous."

"No wonder Mum doesn't want us down there," George said.

"And with her knowing the state of our room."

"I sneezed once going through the floo," Ron told Harry as the twins broke off to their own discussion. "Ended up at the Diggory's by mistake. It can be tricky if you're not careful."

"I've decided I don't like floo travel," Harry said.

"That's fair."

The rest of the shopping was fairly uneventful after that—Mrs. Weasley gave Mr. Weasley a list after Gringotts, told him to stay on task, she was going to get the books early because just _look_ at how Flourish and Blotts is!

Looking at how Flourish and Blotts was, Harry was pretty certain the only thing stopping him from coming back tomorrow when it wasn't as crowded was the idea that he'd have to use the floo again.

The rest of the shopping wasn't nearly as crowded and went smoothly. Snips helped them pick out the best potions ingredients at the apothecary (the manager wanted to know where Snips came from too, and/or if Harry was interested in selling him; Harry was not), and Harry had a long conversation at Madame Malkins about Muggle clothing—or at least, wizard clothing that could pass as Muggle.

"Trousers are really more to the young folks' taste," she said, before finally directing him to a competitor who stocked Muggle clothing. Fred and George had a grand time pulling out the wildest sweaters and making Harry try them on.

Eventually, though, they made their way back to Flourish and Blotts, which had not ceased to be crowded since they started—for good reason, Harry decided, spotting the sign announcing a book signing by—

"Gilderoy Lockhart?" Harry read. "Isn't he the guy who did the Defense books this year?"

"Maybe he figured everyone would be buying his books," Ron said, before waving. "Hermione!"

Hermione spotted them, dodged through the crowd to reach them. "Harry! Ron! Are you okay?" she asked Harry. "I was looking for information on house elves there's a whole history apparently and wizards are _so_ horrible to them I don't understand how this even got started—"

"It's good to see you too, Hermione," Harry greeted.

"Well of course it's good to see you come on you two you can meet my parents—"

There was the obligatory introductions, and once Mr. Weasley was quizzing Mr. and Mrs. Granger on Muggle things to a rapidly increasing audience (dentistry was apparently either supremely barbaric or incredibly hardcore to a group of people who were used to pointing a wand at things and fixing it), Harry, Ron, and Hermione worked their way around the edge of the store to the section labeled _nonfiction_ and started hunting for books on magical creatures. Harry soon had a stack of compendiums, Hermione had several books on house elves, and she and Ron both had flustered expressions when Harry said he'd pay for their books.

"I grabbed too much, it's like…happy birthday and _thanks for having me for the summer,"_ he told them. "Also, Ron, I still owe you ten galleons."

"I won't say _no_ to books," Hermione said, struggling to lift her stack of books. "Do you know if we're allowed to use magic here? Is it just _don't use it at home_ or _don't use it outside of school at all?"_

"Mostly it's _don't use it in front of Muggles,"_ Ron said. "I know we use magic a lot at home even though _technically_ we're not supposed to, but since Mum and Dad are both wizards and it's a wizarding house it doesn't really count, since the Ministry figures any magic there is them doing it." Consider his own stack of books, tug out his wand and point it at the books before doing a little swish and flick. _"Wingardium Leviosa."_

"You really improved on that spell since the troll," Harry said.

"It does kind of set the standard," Ron agreed.

They floated their books to the register, which had a much shorter line than the book signing line—Harry bought several of the expanding reusable shopping bags for sale by the register, was entertained by the clerk explaining how you could customize and personalize it, ended up buying three more books on the topic titled_ Charms for Charming Customization: When Dyeing and Painting Isn't Enough._

"I'm going to make everything Chudley Cannons colors," Ron announced as they drifted over to where Mrs. Weasley was in line. "Like, aggressively coordinated—show Dean how they're better than West Ham."

"They're from two separate sports, Ron," Hermione pointed out. "I don't think you can really compare the two."

"It's the principle of it."

Harry, meanwhile, had reached Mrs. Weasley and gave her the fourth tote bag he had bought, calling it a thank-you for letting him stay over the summer.

"Oh thank you, aren't you a dear," she said, accepting the tote and sorting what he recognized as several copies of their schoolbooks inside.

"The line for the other register is shorter," Harry offered, taking some of the books so she could handle them better.

"Ah, I couldn't resist the book signing—Mr. Lockhart really is an expert in the field. Have you bought your schoolbooks yet? I'll get yours signed as well."

Harry really didn't see why not, pulled out his own Lockhart books (which Snips sniffed at in disdain) before handing them over. "Have you paid for the books yet? I can take the bag for you so it's not so much," he offered, quietly thinking he would one hundred percent pay for them after seeing how much _he_ had compared to how much _they_ had.

(he wondered if he could ask Griphook what the rules about anonymous donations were—it seemed wizards had a _lot_ of rules).

"No, I'm fine now, thank you," Mrs. Weasley said. "Besides, it's almost my turn, shouldn't be too much longer—"

Harry had to dodge a guy with a large camera barreling by, talking about taking pictures for the _Daily Prophet_, decided that book-signing was too much fuss and trailed off to find Ron and Hermione after telling Mrs. Weasley about Hagrid inviting them to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch.

"What do you think?" Harry asked. "Are book signings too much fuss?"

"I wouldn't mind getting my books signed," Hermione said, standing on her tiptoes to try and see Gilderoy Lockhart. "But I'd probably hold up the line—he's done so much according to his books—"

"Maybe we can see about asking to go over to the Quidditch store," Ron suggested.

Unfortunately, this coincided with the Malfoys coming into the store, which slid sideways into a row between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley, which Hagrid had to split up, which attracted the attention of much of the store—

"Upon my word—is that _Harry Potter?"_

Harry decided just then that he really needed to invest in a hat.

* * *

It was a relief to get back to the Burrow, even if it involved using the Floo again—although fortunately this time he reached where he was intending.

The next several weeks were spent making sure their school trunks were all packed—Mrs. Weasley was certain they'd be a mess if they left packing till the last minute, told them that trying to herd the whole of the Weasleys was stressful enough without you lot forgetting every little thing, _make sure it was all packed away, darn it._

Harry and Ron had a long discussion on what they wanted packed away right away and what could wait, Snips finally ending it by hopping up and down on Harry's tote bag (which now did read _Property of Harry James Potter_, although Harry was debating on whether or not he wanted to leave that there), reminding them that they _could_ store what they wanted to keep out to read or play with in there (which would also be good for the train trip).

There was still a long discussion on which books they wanted to pack in the tote bag, and how the fact that the tote bag had expanding charms on it probably wasn't an open invitation to stuff _everything_ in there. They finally agreed on a handful of the more interesting books, Ron's travelling chess set, and some of the knitting supplies Harry had picked up in Diagon Alley.

Harry also spent some of the time trying to knit himself a hat, although the end result looked so much more like a tea cozy that he gave it to Mrs. Weasley (with apologies for its appearance).

August 31st had them finishing up their packing and storing their trunks in the car (which also had expansion charms on it), Mrs. Weasley again saying that _I'll not have us all running about like headless chickens tomorrow morning._ Harry and Ron had their tote bags packed and their clothes for tomorrow ready to go, were in bed early at Mrs. Weasley's behest, still spent an hour chatting about what they'd be learning this year and how excited they were about going back to Hogwarts, despite Dobby's dire predictions.

It was unfortunate that nothing had come out of filing charges at the Ministry.

"We should do this next summer," Ron decided.

Harry was inclined to agree.

* * *

Despite Mrs. Weasley's best efforts, everyone was indeed running around and bumping into each other the next morning, a few false starts out the driveway before someone remembered _something_ they had forgotten. Inanely, Harry recalled Neville's Remembrall and wondered how much one would run him.

Traffic didn't help matters, and by the time they reached Kings Cross, they were cutting things extremely close. Mrs. Weasley ran Fred and George through first, then Percy, then Ginny—

"Ron, Harry, you next," she ordered—Harry and Ron sped for the portal—

Bounced off of it and went sprawling.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley was quick to cover the action, scolding the boys for racing the trolleys as they picked them up—a helpful porter brought Hedwig's cage over, complementing Harry on _such a beautiful bird_, and within a few minutes the curious Muggles were back on their way.

Harry put a hand on the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, was surprised to see it was solid—looked at the nearby clock to see that it was not yet eleven.

"Why is it always me?" Harry asked Ron.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ron started.

Mr. Weasley leaned against the wall. "This is _most_ peculi_yIEEE!"_ he yelped, falling through the portal. Harry put his hand against it—still solid.

"Maybe it _is_ you," Ron amended.


	14. In Which Harry and Ron are Early

**Chapter 14, everybody! In which Harry and Ron ****_don't_**** steal a car….Also, Harry is doomed to hate all forms of wizarding transportation, it seems.**

**Nora as Norbert's female name is inspired by Saphroneth's fic ****_Harry is a Dragon, and That's Okay_****—which you should really go check out, it's very entertaining, and also responsible for some of Dumbledore's portrayal here. :D Ron being addressed as ****_Mr. Weasley_**** comes from a Tumblr post somewhere, but good luck finding it. *shrug***

**Kiiranilen blaq, thanks for the review! Glad you're enjoying it thus far, and I hope it continues to please! :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Hedwig was sent to Hogwarts with a hastily-written note, and Harry and Ron (who refused to leave Harry alone) were deposited in a nearby café so Mrs. Weasley could see the rest of the children off, Harry insisting that she not miss seeing Ginny off at least.

"So let's recap," Ron said, eating a chip. "Earlier this summer, a house elf tells you not to go to Hogwarts. Now that we're at the platform, everyone _but_ you can get through. Someone really doesn't want you going back to Hogwarts."

"I noticed," Harry said drily. "Boy, I hope Hedwig's all right, if they're that desperate."

"I'd be more worried about whoever tried to detain her," Ron said. "And I'm still thinking Malfoy's behind this somehow—he's the one most invested in keeping you away."

"I just hope this isn't going to become a thing."

* * *

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long for Hedwig to come back—the elder Weasleys came back through the platform, followed by Professor McGonagall with Hedwig on her shoulder.

"Professor Flitwick is examining the portal for charms or hexes," she informed them once they were all seated. "After that…seeing as how the train has already left I suppose our options are flooing or apparating to Hogsmeade and walking to Hogwarts. It wouldn't be a terribly long walk, but you two would be the only students there for several hours."

"That actually sounds really cool," Ron said, Harry nodding.

"I mean, if it's not too much trouble—" Harry started.

"We've already been appraised of the situation," Professor McGonagall said. "Although, Mr. Potter, most students at least wait until they reach Hogwarts to start causing a stir."

"Sorry."

They finished lunch, Professor Flitwick joining them, found an abandoned section where their supplies could be shrunk down to fit in their totes, Hedwig sent on her way as Ron got hugs and goodbyes from his parents.

Harry couldn't help flushing at receiving the same treatment.

"Are you familiar with side-along apparition?" Professor McGonagall asked them. Harry shook his head, Ron nodded. "Well Mr. Potter, you simply hold onto my hand and do try not to let go. I will say it's not entirely pleasant—you'll be feeling a bit squeezed."

A few moments later, Harry was of the opinion that he didn't like apparating either.

The professors told them about the town they were in as they headed for the gates, how they'd be allowed to visit on certain weekends starting in their third year (Harry was very interested in the bookstore, Ron was interested in the joke and sweet shops), led them along a winding path to where Hogwarts suddenly appeared.

"Wow," Harry breathed, relaxing at the sight.

Their trunks and other supplies were resized and deposited in the hall after being relieved of their school robes, where they'd be spirited up to their rooms later. Professor McGonagall told them they could explore the grounds within certain boundaries or visit the library until it was time for them to be in the Great Hall for the sorting and welcoming feast, now if you'll excuse them they had to go appraise Professor Dumbledore of the situation.

Harry and Ron waited until they were gone before agreeing that seeing if Hagrid was busy was a good first approach.

Hagrid was busy in his garden, was pleased but surprised to see them.

"Blimey, am I late?" he asked, looking up at the sky. "I didn' miss a day, did I? I had firs' years to escort."

"No, Hagrid, we're just early," Harry explained, before filling him in on what happened at the platform.

"Blimey, Harry," Hagrid said when they'd finished. "I hope this isn't going to be like this your entire year."

"Me too," Harry sighed.

They helped Hagrid in his garden for a bit (the cabbages looked fine) before breaking for tea, discussing what they'd be doing their upcoming year and discussing this platform business in conjunction with the Dobby sighting. Hagrid was in agreement with Ron, someone had it out for Harry and the sooner they figured out who the better.

At least the whole thing with Quirrell had Hagrid more firmly in their corner.

They also discussed what they had learned about Snips, which was to say, not much.

"Growin' nicely, though," Hagrid observed, as Snips pulled a berry out of a muffin and ate it.

They also learned how Norbert was doing—or rather, Nora—Hagrid had exchanged several letters with Charlie Weasley (who was using Nora as his graduate thesis) and even managed to visit Romania to see how she was doing. Hagrid had gone teary-eyed describing her and how _she remembered her mum_, and how much she had enjoyed the fresh teddy he had brought her.

Soon enough though, Hagrid had to bid them goodbye for now, he really did have to get ready and make sure all the boats were fine he always gave them one last once-over before the train arrived—Ron and Harry took the opportunity to check out the library, since it wasn't time to get to the Great Hall yet, quite enjoyed being able to look at the books without worrying about one being checked out or snatched up by a quicker student. They even managed to have a nice conversation with Madame Pince, after explaining the how and why of them being there, complete with a second teatime and her pointing out books they might enjoy this year.

Harry also asked her if anyone volunteered at the library, to which she replied no, usually a combination of magic and staff were able to take care of everything.

There was plenty of calm reading after that, and at least one round of wizard's chess, before a glowing pale cat came ghosting in, informing them in McGonagall's voice that it was time for them to come to the Great Hall. They bid Madame Pince goodbye for now, checked out a few books, and reached the Great Hall to find Professor McGonagall with Professor Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry, Mr. Weasley," Professor Dumbledore greeted. "You'll have to forgive me being formal," he added to Ron. "After the rather disastrous day of listing every one of your brothers but for the one I was talking to, _Mr. Weasley_ is honestly the safest course of action."

"My sister is starting this year," Ron said.

"Dear me, a complication I must prepare myself for," Dumbledore said. "But as we have a few moments before everyone unloads themselves and reaches the castle, I must ask you to once again recount your adventures over the summer."

They did, Dumbledore nodding gravely when they finished.

"I see. Or perhaps I don't—that's always a risk," he said. "We've already taken the liberties of reviewing and strengthening the wards after your arrival—you might have experienced some dizziness and ringing of the ears, for which I apologize—but if something strange should occur despite all that, I ask that you inform either myself or Professor McGonagall immediately. Or another professor, should they be handy."

After assuring the professors that they would they were ushered into the Great Hall to take their seats—it was very strange seeing it so empty, although they hadn't reached the Gryffindor table before Professor Slughorn called them up to ask what they were doing in so far ahead of everyone else.

"Professor Flitwick told me part of it, but by Jove, Harry, a house elf?" he asked.

Which led to them once again explaining everything, fortunately having a set of tea appear (three tea times, Harry was feeling extra-British today, if such a thing existed) as they went over everything. The professors that had arrived fell to discussing their reports, echoed Dumbledore's request that should anything else happen they inform one of the teachers immediately.

"I think we should get a recording and play it for whenever someone asks," Harry decided as they finally sat down at the Gryffindor table.

Which then necessitated explaining to Ron just what a recorder was, which carried them through to the rest of the school arriving and them being rushed by Hermione, the Weasleys, and a smattering of other students—apparently word had spread.

"Or we just write it down and distribute it," Ron told him as they found themselves once again describing the incidents.

Considering how sore Harry's jaw and throat were, he agreed that would be for the best.

* * *

Nothing too noteworthy occurred over the next several days, giving Harry a chance to finally wind down. Ginny Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, to the uproarious applause of her brothers. Luna Lovegood was sorted into Ravenclaw, and accosted Harry shortly after he and Ron acted on their plan to just write everything down and get Hermione to duplicate it with a spell to avoid having to repeat their story. Stacks of the description were distributed to all the common rooms through inter-house friends, and was prefaced as follows:

_On why Harry Potter and Ron Weasley did not take the train_

_What follows is a complete account of the events of September 1st, as well as an earlier incident._

_Pains have been taking to write down everything involved and included in the following document. Everything. Please stop asking Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, they would very much like to move on to talking about classes and Quidditch._

This, of course, did not slow anyone down, and it was enough to get Harry to groan when he saw Luna speed over to him at breakfast.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted, sitting down next to him and pulling a dish of porridge over. "I was hoping to ask you about this."

"Everything's there, Luna," Harry said wearily, as she waved Ginny over—Ginny came hastening over, dragging an excited boy with a camera around his neck.

"Yes, so it says, that's not what I wanted to ask. Hello Ginny, hello Colin."

"Is that Harry Potter?" the boy asked, practically vibrating apart. "Hello Harry I'm Colin Creevey I just started I'm in Gryffindor too I can't wait to start learning can I take a picture I'm taking pictures of everything and sending it back to Da he's a Muggle and I told him I'd take pictures of everything and you're a really famous wizard so that'd be cool—"

"Um, yeah, good for you Colin…please breathe," Harry added, a little concerned.

"Ginny met Colin and introduced us," Luna said. "We'll be needing him for the picture. What I was going to ask, Harry, is if you would allow Dad to publish this in _The Quibbler._ By now they'll have circulated and students will have written home, so I'm sure there's parents with questions."

Harry exchanged glances with Ron. "I don't know, what do you think?"

"I had been wanting to see my name in headlines," Ron mused. "And to be fair, we did kind of ask for it…."

"I haven't heard of the _Quibbler,"_ Hermione said.

"Luna's dad prints it," Harry supplied—which was honestly the extent of his knowledge. "Um, Colin, you can sit down, you know."

"Percy had to knock him out the past two nights," Ginny supplied, digging into some scrambled eggs. "Colin's been so excited he can't sit, let alone sleep."

Indeed, Colin was giving a rapid-fire delivery of how exciting everything was, to the point that Harry grabbed a croissant and handed it to him so he'd have something to eat.

"So, Harry? Ron?" Luna asked.

"I…guess," Harry said finally. "If it's okay with Ron."

"It's fine with me," Ron said.

"Finally," Fred sniffed, wiping an imaginary tear away. "Our brother's name in print."

"And not on a wanted poster either," George said, matching Fred's tone. "Ronnie, we're disappointed."

"Um," Neville noised finally, as Ron grimaced at the twins. "I don't…Miss Luna, this is the Gryffindor table."

"So it is," Luna said, using the same tone one would use when agreeing on a shape a passing cloud was making.

Neville seemed to consider that, looked at the rest of them. "Is that allowed?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond—looked at Hermione. "Is it?"

Hermione looked at Ron. "I…think so? Just that usually it's not encouraged."

Ron shrugged, looked at Fred and George, both of whom looked pensive.

"Fred," George said finally. "I think we have the beginnings of a scheme hatching."

"Agreed," Fred said, nodding.

Colin took the picture then and there, asked Harry for an autograph after the pictures were developed _there's this potion that makes the pictures move we're going to learn it we asked Professor Slughorn about it and we've got a time set up to practice_—Harry said fine so long as Ron signed it too, asked about joining that extracurricular Potions class because that sounded interesting, was worried that Colin would fly apart at that.

"That boy's going to explode from excitement one of these days," Ron decided as they headed for their first class.

Considering he could _still_ hear Colin chattering on, Harry was inclined to agree.


	15. In Which News Circulates

**Chapter 15, everybody! In which stuff happens….Got another Tumblr post reference in this chapter too, so that's fun. And Harry's rant about Wood comes from Small's rant from _The Sandlot,_ which is a fun movie that you should watch. :D**

**LadyJaeza, thanks for the review! Glad you're enjoying the story, and super-excited Colin. :D And thanks! I looked up knitting gauge after you said something—maybe Hagrid will bring it up later. :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Over the next several days, Harry was of the opinion that everything he had learned last year had leaked out his ears and was somewhere in the Burrow's garden. Nothing he had learned seemed to have stuck, and the only class he felt otherwise in was Potions, for the obvious reason.

Indeed, Professor Slughorn was effervescent in his praise of both Harry and Ron, announced towards the end of class that he was organizing some much-requested extracurricular Potions labs, please sign the form up front if interested so he had an idea of the lab size. Harry, Ron and Hermione signed up, Neville driven to sign by Snips, who had once again spent most of the class stopping him from making some potentially fatal errors.

The four of them did find an empty classroom during a free period and ran through all the spells they thought they remembered from last year, which made Harry feel better about things. Sure he still felt rusty, but it seemed magic was like learning to ride a bike—theoretically. He had never learned and Dudley only really had a mountain bike because he _wanted_ one, not because he used it.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was…a disaster. There was no sugar-coating it. From the extra-long quiz that was all about Lockhart to being called out on his fame (that Harry really didn't care for) to having a swarm of Cornish Pixies released in the class, Harry's only consolation was that Lockhart couldn't _possibly_ have any connection to Voldemort.

At least, Harry was _pretty_ sure Voldemort had a minimum standard for competence—but then again, he _had_ been bested by a baby, so that was up in the air.

Oliver Wood's passion for Quidditch had not been dimmed over the summer—matter of fact, he seemed more fervent for not being able to play for several months. And, regrettably, Oliver Wood wanted to play rain, shine, tidal wave, whatever—Harry was pretty sure a dragon could nest in the Quidditch pitch and Wood would just say _well it's only a LITTLE hazard._

He was also pretty sure that Wood would consider Harry getting his ear chewed off (figuratively) by Filch for tracking mud in also qualified as a _little_ hazard. Shortly after that incident they learned the Scourgify charm in class, and Harry made sure to use it before entering the castle every single time afterwards. After all, he didn't think there were very many more vanishing cabinets that Sir Nicholas could get Peeves to drop.

On the positive side, that did see Harry getting invited to a Death-Day party, which sounded interesting enough—Harry brought it up with Ron and Hermione, who agreed to go with him; Snips bounced up and down and did a passable imitation of Slughorn.

"He's got a point," Hermione said when Ron guessed it. "If we're going to be in the dungeons, we'll need to let the Head of Slytherin know—Professor Slughorn knows the dungeons better than anyone. And you _know_ what happened last Halloween."

Hermione nearly getting killed by the troll because none of the teachers knew she wasn't at the feast. "Fair point," Harry admitted.

Professor Slughorn, intriguingly, was excited about the concept of a Death-Day party, agreed to escort them to it "Just wait for me in the Entrance Hall, would you? I have to escort my first years to the feast." It was workable enough that they all agreed to it.

Which would have had everything leading up to Halloween as very uneventful, if it weren't for the fact that the Slytherin team was trying to muscle in during Gryffindor practice—apparently thanks to Malfoy's father, who was on the school board and wrote up a note that said they could to train their new seeker, who oh by the way was Malfoy and did we mention that Malfoy's father also bought the Slytherin team brand new Nimbus Two-Thousand-And-Ones? Because that was relevant and apparently worth mentioning every time Malfoy crossed Harry's path, often enough that Harry thought Malfoy might be stalking him.

"At least the Gryffindor team didn't _buy_ their way in!" Hermione spat one day, when this became too much. "They got in on pure raw _talent!"_

This was in a hall between classes, and had enough students around to make the resounding _oooohhh_ very impressive indeed. Malfoy's ears pinked, and he spluttered for a few moments before saying "No one _cares_ what you think, you filthy little Mudblood!"

Harry registered Snips leaving the hood of his robes right as Snips connected with Malfoy's face and bit down hard—Crabbe and Goyle registered that as Harry casting a spell, shot hexes at him, Ron and Hermione countered, Harry pulling his own wand out with the intent to get Snips—

The hall quickly devolved into a full-on duel, and by the time Harry retrieved Snips several teachers plus Hagrid had come in to restore order.

"Everyone who can hear my voice has detention for a week! No, Everson, being deaf doesn't absolve you Filius tell him—and ten points from your respective houses _per student!"_ Professor McGonagall yelled, waving her wand and neutralizing several spells—several wands also flew into her free hand. "Now what started this mess?"

Malfoy jabbed a finger at Harry. "Potter's weird pet attacked me!"

Harry quickly stuffed Snips into his pocket, ignoring his protesting squeak, pointed at Malfoy. "Malfoy started it! He called Hermione a…um…well I don't know what he called her, exactly…."

"He called me a mudblood," Hermione said.

Harry sensed that Malfoy was in trouble from the thunderous expression on McGonagall's face.

Indeed, after reading him the riot act on how _bigotry was NOT tolerated at Hogwarts_ Professor McGonagall docked Malfoy another fifty points and assigned him a month's worth of detention—Harry had the sinking feeling he'd be having to watch his back again.

And then he was distracted by Ron vomiting up slugs.

"Ron!" Hermione yelped. "Are you okay?"

"No," Ron groaned. "I tried to hex someone and it rebounded."

Professor McGonagall sighed, waved her wand for attention again. "Anyone who needs medical attention, please follow Mr. Hagrid to the hospital wing."

"Right—c'mere, Ron, up you get," Hagrid said, picking Ron up. "Neville you too tha' looks like a right nasty stingin' hex…."

Harry and Hermione—as well as a gaggle of other students—trailed after Hagrid, filed into the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was bustling everywhere, tending to everyone at once it seemed; Hagrid came back from the cupboard with a bucket.

"Now Ron, this calls for specialized equipment," Hagrid said, plonking the bucket down in front of him. "No choice but to let that peter out, sorry."

Ron groaned, resigning himself to a long, arduous, gross time.

Snips, meanwhile, was perched next to Ron, supervising him vomiting slugs with wings tightly folded—going after Malfoy as he had, Harry suspected that Snips too knew precisely what Malfoy had called Hermione, and had not approved either. Goodness gracious, the little thing was _seething_.

This wasn't the first time, Harry recalled—Malfoy had used that word before and Snips had lit into him, in the Forbidden Forest during their detention. Harry had meant to ask about that word, thought he could be forgiven the mental slip, considering everything that had followed.

Now, however, maybe he could get an answer. "What's a mudblood?" he asked Hagrid.

Hagrid looked like Harry had said the worst curse word imaginable. "Now where'd you here an awful thing like tha'?"

"Malfoy called Hermione that—it's what kicked the whole thing off," Harry said, shooting Hermione an apologetic look. She waved him off, keeping her head low.

"Well…_tha' word_ is a really filthy lowbrow thing to call anyone who's not a 'pureblood'—not _tha'_ pure if you think callin' someone a name like tha' makes you better'n them. I mean they haven't made a spell yet tha' our Hermione can't do!"

"Yeah," Ron got out before vomiting up another mouthful of slugs. "Although I wish she'd come up with a counterspell for this."

Hermione gingerly patted Ron on the shoulder. "I'll think of something."

* * *

About thirty students had ended up with detention following that mess. Of the lot of them, Harry knew that Ron (still occasionally burping up slugs that night) ended up working for Filch, Hermione was helping Madame Pince, and Neville was working in the hospital wing (probably in anticipation of injuries).

Harry felt that the Slytherins scrubbing the dungeons—heck, anyone else—got the better end of the deal than he did.

Because here he was, for the third night of his week's worth of detention, helping Gilderoy Lockhart sort and answer his fan mail. At Lockhart's insistence. And got to hear lectures on how to manage his fame and _fighting only gets you bad PR, Harry, never resort to it_ and so many other things that he wondered if there was a spell that stuffed your ears full of cotton so you didn't have to listen anymore.

Honestly, if Professor McGonagall had wanted Harry to stay out of trouble, she couldn't have been more effective if she had picked this herself. She hadn't, he was assured, because he was pretty sure she wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy.

Reflecting on it, it probably wouldn't have been so bad if he had company, but after the second night when he had to restrain Snips he sent the little thing to the library with Hermione to avoid losing a teacher before the midterms. Not that hexing Lockhart himself wasn't growing very tempting.

_Rip…kill…let me kill…._

Harry jerked upright—did he hear…what did he just hear?

"Ah but that was a fine time…Harry? Harry are you even listening to me?"

"Uh?" Harry noised, glancing back at Lockhart. "Uh…no, sorry, I thought I heard…something." Pretty sure he had, at least.

"Are you all right, Harry? You look tired," Lockhart said, peering at Harry before looking at a device on his desk. "Well and no wonder, look at the time! Ah well, you know what they say—time flies when you're having fun! I'll see you after dinner tomorrow, same time, same place?"

"Uh…sure," Harry said, too distracted to focus on that—didn't stop him from hustling out of Lockhart's office, though.

Once he was out in the empty hall though, he stayed as still and quiet as possible, senses straining for what felt like an eternity….Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe he _had_ dozed off.

But looking around…Hogwarts was beautiful and amazing, certainly, but right now it was almost…scary.

He shook his head and hustled for the tower with plans to dive headfirst in his bed and not wake up until breakfast.

* * *

Harry was seriously debating on sharing his odd experience with his friends the next morning. On the one hand, if he had really heard it, it was a problem. On the other, if he had just dreamed it, it'd get them all worked up over nothing.

"So I don't know if I dreamt something up or not," Harry told Snips, stretching on his pillow. "Share? Don't share?"

Snips blinked blearily at him, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if small bat-things needed coffee sometimes.

As it turned out though, Harry had something else to distract him at breakfast.

"Hello Harry," Luna Lovegood said, plopping down next to him.

"Hello Luna," Harry returned, before blinking at what she put on the table. "Doing some reading?"

"Actually the article got posted and I figured you'd like a copy," Luna said, handing him a magazine with _The Quibbler_ across it in garish letters. "And one for Hermione and Ron and several for his brothers…where's Colin his dad might like one."

Flipping through it as Neville asked about a copy, Harry's first impression of the magazine was that it was like one of those fun-zines with puzzles and odd tricks in them—although several of the articles had him puzzling more than the actual puzzles.

"Luna," he asked. "What exactly is a crumple-horned snorckack?"

Which started an explanation that lasted through the rest of breakfast—Luna served herself at the Gryffindor table again, pausing occasionally to sell a copy or subscription of the _Quibbler._

Actually, that was an idea. "Hey Luna, how much is a subscription to your family's magazine?"


	16. In Which Secret Chambers are Opened

**Chapter 16, everybody! In which we see some of Harry's new wardrobe….**

**Fred and George's plot comes from another Tumblr thread, and I've been rereading ****_Chamber of Secrets_**** in the meantime to refresh my memory on how things went…wow, people went off the deep end quickly even with just Mrs. Norris as the singular victim. O_O**

**And the new magical species discovered in Hawaii might be familiar to fans of _Lilo and Stitch. _;)**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Mischief Night had Harry, Ron and Hermione debating on what would be proper attire for a Death-Day party.

"Aren't we going to be wearing our robes though?" Ron asked. "So it shouldn't really matter, right?"

"It's the principle of it," Hermione said. "Sir Nicholas would like the gesture that we wore our best clothes for the event, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry, personally, had been wearing his best clothes ever since he bought new ones at Diagon Alley—Dudley's old rags had been mostly shrunk down to his size and cleaned, with him resolving that he'd only wear them at the Dursleys or when he was assured he would be doing something messy, like repotting mandrakes in Herbology.

And goodness did he have fun with the sweaters Fred and George had picked out—especially once the salesclerk showed him how you could make the patterns move by squeezing the tag (which, possibly thanks to magic, never itched). Currently, he had a sweater on that depicted a starry night over a forest, which occasionally had bats, owls, and very rarely a dragon fly past the moon.

Harry was going to have a very hard time not wearing any of these clothes come summer.

They finally came to an agreement that they'd wear nice clothes under their robes, because as Hermione said, it was the principle of it.

Halloween day itself didn't see much action beyond cleaning up the various pranks from the night before, although they did get the first inclinations on what it was the twins had been doing.

"Oi," Dean said to Ron at breakfast. "Since when did you have a brother in Slytherin and Ravenclaw?"

"Do what?" Ron asked—looked when Dean pointed. Harry looked too, saw Fred dressed in Slytherin colors at the Slytherin table and George in similar straits at the Ravenclaw table.

"Fred must have lost the coin toss," Ron decided.

After listening to the twins very loudly declare that they were insulted their respective houses didn't recognize them _I've been in the dorm for FOUR YEARS NOW_ everyone decided to go back to what they were doing.

Apparently, this didn't quite qualify as a stir by wizarding standards.

* * *

The trio heavily debated on actually _going_ to the Death-Day party when they saw just how the Great Hall looked, but they _had_ made a promise and Professor Slughorn was also along for the ride to ensure they were committed. He did assure them that he'd come up with an appropriate excuse if they found themselves disliking the party "Ghosts have different standards for these things after all" and pointed out they probably wouldn't be there too long anyway because the ghosts would be wanting to make an appearance at the feast.

It was pretty impressive seeing Slughorn giving a member of the headless hunt a dressing-down for insulting Sir Nicholas, but the rest of the party was—in all honesty—rather dead. Sir Nicholas did thank them thoroughly for taking time out of their schedules to visit when they made their excuses and departed.

"I think we should make a pact," Ron announced once they were out of earshot. "That should we end up as ghosts we'll have more epic parties than that."

"Ron it wasn't _that_ bad," Hermione chided.

Harry opened his mouth to agree with Ron—

_Kill…let me kill…._

Harry froze, snapped his head around, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end—

"What?" Ron asked. "What is it?"

"Did you hear that?" Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione shook their heads.

"Perhaps you heard one of the ghosts heading for the Great Hall early," Professor Slughorn suggested.

"One of the ghosts would be talking about killing someone?" Harry asked blankly—

_Let me rip…let me tear…I smell blood. I SMELL BLOOD!_

"There it is again!" Harry squawked, pointing. "It's coming from that way!"

"Harry, _no!"_ Hermione scolded, catching his arm right as Snips bit his ear. "No running after voices talking about killing!"

"There's a self-preservation thing," Ron added.

Professor Slughorn, meanwhile, had freed his wand, sent a bright light shooting away, turned to the hall Harry had identified, wand at the ready.

"Now that's done—get behind me, children," he said, waving them back. "Harry, you said _this_ corridor?" When Harry nodded: "Very well—much as I'd rather wait for reinforcements, we can't let whatever it is roam loose in the castle."

They minced their way through the corridors, everyone with their wands out, Harry pointing out a turning whenever he heard the voice again—

"Gyeh!" Ron yelped, feet splashing in water. "What the—"

"Ah," Professor Slughorn said, examining the flooded corridor. "Miss Myrtle took Peeves' actions poorly, I see."

"Could I have heard her?" Harry asked.

"Doubtful—Myrtle has never been the murderous sort." Professor Slughorn waved his wand, vanishing the water—

"There's something over there," Hermione said, pointing.

They reached the strange item Hermione pointed out, realized that it was a frozen Mrs. Norris dangling from a torch just as several teachers arrived.

"We've got the students heading back to their dorms," Professor McGonagall said, approaching them. "This makes two Halloweens in a row for goodness'—_oh my word,"_ she gasped, freezing at the sight of Mrs. Norris—

And, written in big red letters up and down the corridor:

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware._

* * *

By breakfast on All Saint's Day, the whole of the castle was abuzz with rumor, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to once again write down, copy, and distribute what they knew of the event.

"Does Hogwarts have a school newspaper?" Hermione asked Percy, helping her with the copying.

"I'll bring it up with Professor McGonagall next prefects' meeting," he said.

At breakfast the next day, Dumbledore made an announcement.

"As you have no doubt heard, Mrs. Norris has been petrified and left with a disturbing message," Dumbledore said. "We are working to track down the culprit as we speak.

"In the meantime, I would like to reassure everyone that Mrs. Norris will not suffer any permanent damage," he continued, nodding at Mr. Filch, still sobbing over his cat. "Professor Sprout has a crop of mandrakes in the greenhouses this year, which will be used to make a potion that will revive Mrs. Norris as soon as they are mature.

"As for the message left on the walls, rest assured that we are looking into anything involving the Chamber of Secrets, and will alert you if there is a need to worry. Saying that, we don't feel there is a need to worry just _yet_, so you may continue with your current foci."

This, of course, did nothing to stop the Hogwarts gossip mill from working overtime. And, considering this smacked of yet another Hogwarts mystery on par with the Sorcerer's Stone last year, _everyone_ was devoting every ounce of spare time to investigating the Chamber of Secrets, much to Hermione's dismay—only because it meant that all the books on the subject were checked out of the library.

"There's a waiting list as tall as Hagrid!" she reported at dinner.

"Think we should get involved?" Ron asked. "I mean, after _last_ year I'm not so sure."

"We're already involved though," Harry pointed out. "We're the ones who found Mrs. Norris."

"I was afraid of that. Hello Luna."

"Hello," Luna said, Ginny and Colin sitting next to her as she sat next to Ron. "I was wondering if I could have you three's permission to publish your new document in _The Quibbler_."

The three of them chorused agreement, sure, just please let everyone know that they didn't want any letters asking for details like last time.

"I'll try to make sure that's stressed," Luna said, before turning to Neville. "Do you want to be on our team, Neville?"

"What?" Neville asked blankly.

"Everyone's splitting up into teams to investigate this Chamber of Secrets," Luna said. "Which is very convenient, as I was wanting to investigate it for Dad. Ginny and Colin and I have already teamed up for this, and we were wondering if you wanted to be on our team."

"I guess?" Neville said, still looking very confused.

"Shouldn't you have another Ravenclaw on your team?" Dean asked. "Because if you get to the bottom of this, with three Gryffindors we'd get most of the points."

"The lion's share," Seamus corrected.

"That's true."

"I already asked around my house—everyone has already formed teams, it seems," Luna said.

"Guess that's their loss then," Ron said, tugging a pot pie over to him.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione heavily debated about getting involved—well, more than they were. Harry was kind of on the fence, didn't really want to get into another school-sized scheme after last year, but couldn't help thinking about that sinister voice.

It was definitely the topic of debate when they went for tea at Hagrid's.

"Righ' nasty business, all tha'," Hagrid said, in between teaching Harry how to measure gauge with his knitting (although the hat he was attempting was again shaping up to be tea-cozy shaped). "Remember the _last_ time—I shouldn't have said tha'."

Ron dropped his treacle tart. "It was open before?"

"Well—"

"Please, Hagrid! You can't say that and then _not_ tell us!" Hermione said.

"Especially Hermione," Ron said. "She's gone mental trying to find information on it—no offense."

"None taken," said Hermione's mouth, although her eyes said _hexes later._

"Well," Hagrid hemmed, hawed—finally relented. "It was well on fifty years ago now—I was attendin' at the time, bout your age. Lot of attacks—one poor girl died. Myrtle, I think her name was—pretty sure she sat behind me in Charms. Poor girl."

Snips bit Ron on the hand for muttering under his breath _definitely if she sat behind you_. Although Harry supposed he had a point, considering he imagined Hagrid still took up a bit of the view even when sitting down.

"Did anyone find out who was responsible?" Hermione asked.

"No," Hagrid said, expression dark. "More's the pity—I'da liked to wring the bloke responsible meself. Ah, tea's done—tha's looking _much_ better Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said. "But I think you'll be getting a new tea cozy."

"Tha's good—Fang chewed on the last one."

* * *

Hermione didn't give up on the Chamber of Secrets, and Ron and Harry resigned themselves to being on her team.

The next History of Magic had her pumping Professor Binns for information—and then Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration. What they got was that Salazar Slytherin made the Chamber of Secrets, meaning the heir was probably in Slytherin.

Harry heard from a few of his Slytherin acquaintances in the Slug Club that once this news spread—and it had like wildfire—that everyone in the Slytherin common room immediately pounced on each other in their haste to vet each other and out someone as the culprit. Mostly because points.

"It's gotten to be like a really elaborate game of Clue," Ross Ambrose said.

"Isn't that a Muggle game?" Ernie MacMillan asked.

"It is," Harry confirmed. "How did you hear of it?"

"My dad remarried a Muggle woman when Mum died—I was five," Ross said—then paused. "Boy, I hope that doesn't put me on the target list."

Harry and Ernie both assured him that as a Slytherin he'd be fine.

"I'd be more worried about me," Harry told him. "I didn't even know all this existed before Hagrid came along."

"I've not heard this story," Ernie said, leaning on the table.

Harry shared, feeling it was an improvement over everyone discussing who was Muggleborn or not and whether or not half-bloods fell into the category and _Hermione tell us more about your one theory_ (Hermione having joined the Slug Club shortly after a combination of recommendation from Harry and Slughorn seeing her grades—in his words, _this girl is going places_).

"Wow," Ross said finally. "Your relatives _really_ don't like magic."

"Yeah," Harry said, blinking at his sundae dish refilling itself, complete with cherry on top. "I don't know why."

* * *

There was also a whole secret black market that sprung up among the students, involving charms and talismans that were supposed to ward off whatever—Neville was buying quite a bit and telling everyone _I was almost a squib so yes I have to worry_ and Luna buying them for educational purposes.

Harry found he liked Luna, and _The Quibbler_, although Hermione brushed it off as nonsense after a few readings.

"You know that's all fake, right?" she asked, side-eyeing the article he was reading on the crumple-horned snorkcacks.

"But didn't you think magic and unicorns and dragons and three-headed dogs were all fake before Hogwarts?" Harry countered. "We can't rightly know for sure, right?"

"I personally want an article on wrackspurts," Ron said. "I need to know more about that one."

"_Boys,"_ Hermione huffed, burying her nose in her book.

Harry wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, so decided not to comment.

"Ah good, no Weasleys to encroach on business," an upper-year Slytherin said, glancing around the hall before pacing down it. "Charms and talismans, tried and tested!"

"What am I, invisible?" Ron demanded.

"Ah right—a customer, no doubt."

"A Weasley, actually—what, are Fred and George getting in on this?"

"Fred, George, Hubert, Edmund, Donald—"

Ron blinked. "Do what?"

"Somehow I've missed there being a Weasley in Slytherin all this time. My contacts inform me that Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff have had similar oversights."

Ron made an enlightened noise. "So _that's_ what they've been doing."

"As the one who may or may not be assisting, I wouldn't know." The Slytherin extended a hand. "Fergus MacDougall, at your service."

"Hello," Harry said, shaking his hand first. "I'm Harry."

"Harry Potter—yes I know," Fergus said, pointing at Harry's head when he let go. "You should invest in a hat if you want that to be a surprise."

"I keep trying to knit one—it doesn't end well."

"Well I hear practice makes perfect. And by process of elimination you _might_ be Ron Weasley."

"Yeah," Ron said, shaking his hand. "And this is Hermione. She might come up for air later, she's in her _deep reading_ mood."

"An excellent way to avoid conversation, to be sure."

"There you are!"

"Not trying to pollute ickle Gryffindors, are you?"

"Good to see you Donald," Fergus said to Fred, before eyeing George. "Hubert."

"Now is that any way to treat a Hufflepuff?" George asked.

"Especially with the way they know the castle," Fred said.

"Not very cunning for a Slytherin."

"Oi—you take that back!"

"_Never."_

"And while authority figures are distracted I can continue with my previous activities," Fergus said, hustling away after handing them a card. "My hours."

Ron seemed consternated. "I never knew there was a Slytherin version of Fred and George."

"I'm pretty sure that _is_ Fred and George," Harry pointed out, indicating the twins tussling.

"I know _that_, I meant Fergus."

"Is he in the Slug Club?"

"Not sure—Ginny! Are you okay?" Ron asked, as his little sister came up. "You're not still upset about Mrs. Norris, are you? Because you really shouldn't, she was a right foul—"

"_Ron,"_ Hermione interrupted.

"She's coming out of the book—everyone behave."

Harry felt Ron had the slap upside the head coming.

"No, I'm not, Ron," Ginny said, a little red-faced as she avoided looking at Harry. "I'm meeting up with Luna, we're going to try to track down the heir."

Ron blanched, and even Fred and George stopped. "Ginny, no—"

"It's all right, we're going to have Neville with us."

Snips snorted so hard he knocked himself out of the hood of Harry's robes.

"And it's not like we're wandering off by ourselves so—"

"Hello," Luna greeted. "Enjoying your reading Harry?"

"Uh—yeah," Harry said, lifting Snips back to his hood. "This really does help."

"I want an article on wrackspurts next," Ron said. "And less of you two going off by yourselves."

"It's okay, we have Neville."

From the sounds of it, Snips was gnawing on Harry's robes to keep from laughing so hard he hurt.

"Oi Neville!" Fred yelled, waving at the Gryffindor hastening after Colin Creevey. "You'd better take care of our baby sister!"

"Yeah," George added. "We Hufflepuffs can get surprisingly scary when motivated."

Neville stopped, apparently unsure how to take this.

"Wow!" Colin said. "How many siblings do you have?"

"Well there's Donald, Bill, Charlie—"

"Fred, George, ickle Ronnie," Fred added.

"And you have to call him that, it's the rule."

"Hermione, can I borrow your book?" Ron asked.

"If it's to hit your brothers again, then no," Hermione said.

"Percy, Ginny, Edmund—"

"I met Edmund," Luna said. "he seemed very nice."

"Well we Weasleys do try."

"So are we ready to go?" Colin asked.

"Yes," Ginny said, shouldering her bag.

"Um, Luna?" Neville asked, looking at Luna's feet—which, now that Harry looked, were bare. "Where are your shoes?"

"I'm not sure—they all seem to have gone missing," Luna said. "Perhaps we'll come across them in our search for the heir. Or maybe the heir stole them for some reason—it's a possibility we might have to entertain."

"Or maybe it's an entirely different mystery," George pointed out.

"Those are tricky," Fred said. "Although I don't think you get house points for solving a shoe caper."

"We don't know that."

"That's true."

"We should probably go now," Ginny said, heading off, Colin running after her with his camera.

"Yes," Luna agreed, following. "I hope it's not that new magical species discovered in Hawaii—I don't want to lose all my left shoes."

Neville was sighing as he followed. "I'm not _ready_ to be the mature one of the group."

Snips laughed so hard he fell to the floor.


	17. In Which Bludgers Go Rogue

**Chapter 17, everybody! In which Harry visits the Hospital Wing again….**

**FaolenBookWolf, thanks for the review! I didn't know I needed that either, but I love it. :D And I can guarantee mayhem with these new Weasleys. :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

The following days saw more progress on the missing shoes case than the Chamber of Secrets—Harry was honestly starting to entertain the notion that it had been an elaborate and ill-intentioned Halloween prank, brought it up to Ron one day.

"Definite emphasis on _ill-intentioned,"_ Ron said after some thought, happy for the distraction from their History of Magic essays (which left Harry seriously wondering why wizards and goblins even bothered with each other). "From what I've heard from my brothers, Halloween pranks are generally like Fred and George blowing up a toilet or-or this one time where someone turned the fourth floor into lava—not _real_ lava, you know, but like, made it look like it. This is a bit too mean for me to buy that."

That was a fair point, Harry supposed, even if the use of magic _did_ seem to okay some nasty things—it was easy to hex someone into being covered from head to toe in boils if a countercurse made it go away in a heartbeat.

Hermione was still in the library come Saturday, so Harry and Ron helped Luna's team—hunt for her shoes, not the heir.

"It could be gnargles," Luna said, peering up at a statue and then at its feet. "They tend to be mischievous."

"I've decided I'm taking Care of Magical Creatures next year," Neville said. "There's an awful lot of them I've never heard of."

Speaking of magical creatures, Harry asked Snips for help while Neville explained to Colin that you could take extra classes starting third year and drop some core classes if you wanted to come sixth year. Snips looked around, up at the rafters before looking at him and shrugging.

"So I guess Snips isn't a shoe-finder," Ron said, as Snips took to the air and started circling around them.

"Isn't there a spell or something that could do this?" Harry wondered. "I feel like there should be a finding-things spell."

"Hermione would know."

"Wouldn't one of the teachers know too?" Ginny asked.

"I think Professor Flitwick is in his office," Luna said.

Professor Flitwick was, and after asking their question and explaining that they were looking because of Luna's missing shoes (and then explaining what gnargles were), Professor Flitwick went over the Summoning Charm with them.

"I don't usually teach this to students until fourth year," he told them. "Because it's _very_ important you get the enunciation right."

This was made clear when Neville accidentally summoned the futon and had to have it levitated off of him. Harry _almost_ had the spell by dinner, though, and Professor Flitwick invited them back the next day to try again, promising extra credit and points if they could get it.

"We'll go over some basic security charms as well," he added, looking at Luna. "As that should help narrow down the culprits who have been stealing your shoes. Speaking of—_accio Miss Lovegood's shoes!"_

Neville once again found himself buried under several summoned items.

* * *

It took most of the rest of the week to master the summoning charm. Harry was among the last, mostly because all of his free time was spent on the Quidditch field practicing until he could hardly stand.

"I have it on good authority that Slytherin's banking on us to be too exhausted to play," Fred said after practice one day.

"Did Donald bet against his own family?" George asked.

"The scum," Fred confirmed. "So I doubled the bet that we'd win."

"I'm sure our Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw brothers are getting in on it."

"No doubt."

"What are they talking about?" Katie asked.

"Unless the answer involves finding a bed to collapse in, I don't care," Angelina said, half-asleep against her.

On the positive side, Harry slept soundly the night before the game, if for no other reason that he didn't have any choice in the matter.

On the negative side, the game itself quickly took a problematic turn when it became clear that one of the bludgers was hexed to go after Harry specifically. There was a heated debate during a time-out on if the Slytherins had hexed it, and how—Fred was pretty sure not even Donald would stoop that low, Katie questioned who could have done it, and Wood pointed out that the only person to have handled the balls was Madame Hooch, no one else could have gotten to them.

"Look," Harry said finally. "At this rate the only way I'll catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve—leave me to deal with the bludger, okay?"

No one was okay with this, but it was either that or forfeit to Slytherin—hence why they were all airborne moments later with Harry having to dodge the bludger that did eventually succeed in breaking his arm.

On the bright side, snatching the snitch right from above Malfoy's head was worth it. Even if he didn't quite remember landing.

When he came to, it was with the snitch in hand, Madame Hooch yelling about getting the bludger checked, Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy, and Gilderoy Lockhart kneeling next to him.

Definitely a problem with that last one.

"No!" Harry squawked, backing away as best he could. "Not you!"

"Boy doesn't know what he's saying," Lockhart said to those assembled. "Now hold still, Harry," he said, pulling out his wand.

Snips immediately launched himself forward, wrapped his tail around Lockhart's wand, and flew off, yanking the wand clean out of his hand.

"Oh dear—stay right where you are! This is simple—reminds me of that one time in Athens—"

Harry waited until he was gone before struggling upright.

"Honestly, Harry—Professor Lockhart said to _stay,"_ Hermione said, as the twins helped him to his feet.

"Hermione, I don't know _what_ he was planning on doing, but Snips not letting him was enough for me," Harry said. "I'm going to the hospital wing."

"We'll go with you," Ron said, indicating himself and Hermione.

"Perfect," George said.

"Lets us watch the veggie-pusher in action," Fred said, already going back to watching Snips play keepaway, dodging into a bush before any of the approaching teachers could see. Professor McGonagall slowed to give the event a glance, poured on the speed when she saw Harry—

"I'm already going to the hospital wing, professor," Harry said.

"Good," McGonagall said.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey tutted through most of the bandaging and fixing up of Harry, at Quidditch in general and bludgers in particular. As Harry had expected, she had easily mended his arm. As he had also expected, she wanted him to stay overnight for observation.

"Do I have to?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," she said, handing him a potion he recognized as a painkiller potion, even though he wasn't feeling poorly. "I'd rather you not strain that arm, and knowing Gryffindor parties, you would. Settle down, and rest assured no bludgers will be getting by me tonight."

Harry wondered if Madame Pomfrey was a beater in another life.

She did allow for a limited party before visiting hours finished up, Ron and Hermione and the twins telling him how Snips had left Lockhart's wand up a tree and how Lockhart had to climb it to get it—Hermione left him a book to read as Madame Pomfrey shooed them out, and the rest had left several sweets that the mediwitch told him he could have after a sensible dinner first.

Afterwards Harry sat in his bed, reading the book that turned out to be on magical creatures, munching on a pumpkin pasty and somewhat relieved that neither bludgers nor Lockhart would be able to get past Madame Pomfrey. She was currently in the back sorting her potions, after politely declining his offer to help (citing his need for winding down for a restful night, don't make her bring out the dreamless sleep) and assuring him that she had several spells on the doors and windows that would let her know if someone tried to break in.

He was pleasantly surprised when Snips squeezed through a window a few pastries later to flit over to him.

"I heard you put Lockhart's wand up a tree," Harry told him, once he was on his usual perch of Harry's shoulder. Snips response was to blow a small raspberry. "I hope Colin Creevy got photos, I'm sorry I missed that."

Madame Pomfrey was over moments later, wand out—looked at the window, at him, spotted Snips. "Ah."

"Can't he stay, Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked. "He's not doing anything, and he doesn't take up much space."

Madame Pomfrey nodded, looking resigned. "No, past experience tells me he'd be right back if I sent him out." Point at Snips. "He gets to bed at a reasonable hour, understand?"

Snips saluted, _crr_ed at Harry as she moved to extinguish the lights.

"Five more minutes?" Harry tried.

Snips flashed sharp teeth, and Harry was very quick to relegate everything to the bedside table before diving under the sheets.

* * *

Harry was woken up a few hours later by some very startled yelps. Sit up, grab his glasses, light a quick _lumos_ with his wand—

To see Snips laying into Dobby, diving and snapping at the poor house elf.

"Hey! Snips!" Harry yelped, jumping out of bed and tugging him off. "Dobby, what are you doing here?"

"Dobby had to check on Harry Potter sir, Dobby _told_ Harry Potter _not_ to come to Hogwarts!" Dobby wailed.

Harry debated shushing him, figured Madame Pomfrey would take a house elf better than Uncle Vernon had. "And I told you I couldn't let my friends be in danger—you're right though, something weird's been going on—the caretaker's cat got attacked, no one's sure by what." Watch Dobby's reaction…. "Whatever attacked her is what you're trying to warn me about, isn't it?"

Dobby trying to beat himself over the head with an empty bedpan was a good indication.

"Dobby, _stop that,"_ Harry hissed, taking the bedpan away. "Listen—what if I asked you questions, and you shake your head yes or no—would that work?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby just wants Harry Potter _away_ from here! Dobby thought Harry Potter would give up when he couldn't get on the platform—"

_"You_ sealed it!?"

"And then when Harry Potter made it to Hogwarts, Dobby thought that his bludger would—"

"You hexed the bludger to come after me?" Harry asked, stunned—looked at Snips—

Snips pointed at the bedpan still in Harry's grasp, then at Dobby.

"Dobby you could have killed me—or gotten me expelled!" Harry said, gesturing with the hand still holding the bedpan, figuring Snips wouldn't like flying around like that. Vaguely, he was aware he sounded like Hermione there, but still.

"Dobby didn't want to _kill_ Harry Potter!" Dobby protested. "Just get Harry Potter _away_ from danger, like with the Muggles!"

Harry froze, was aware of Snips' similar reaction. "Um…Dobby…I would really appreciate _not—"_

Dobby shook his head again. "Hogwarts won't allow for one of its students to be stolen, Harry Potter sir, not even by a well-meaning house elf, sir."

Well that was comforting. "But Dobby—ugh, look. If you could just—_tell_ someone, or give us a better idea of what it is—anything—any little thing _that doesn't involve hurting yourself,"_ Harry said, snatching the bedpan away from Dobby's reaching hands. "Some sort of clue or something—my friends and I can figure it out, Dobby, just give us a hint."

Dobby hesitated—ears suddenly perked up—

Vanished with a sharp _crack._

"Hey!" Harry barked—

Threw his arm over his eyes at the light.

"Mr. Potter, I recall telling you to stay in bed."

Harry blinked owlishly at Madame Pomfrey, standing there in her bathrobe with a lit wand and a cross expression—realized he still had a bedpan and Snips in his hands, put both down to point where Dobby had been. "This wasn't my fault, ma'am—there was a house elf—"

Madame Pomfrey didn't dismiss him out of hand or react like Uncle Vernon, so Harry was counting this as a win.

"I knew that _someone_ came in here, but the Hogwarts house elves would know better than to bother a patient," she said, sending a few lights off to scan the area.

Harry blinked at her. "Hogwarts has house elves?"

"Of course! Who do you think cleans the place and cooks the meals?"

Honestly, until this very second he figured it was just magic. "I never saw any."

"That's the mark of a good house elf," she told him, chivying him into bed. "Had a couple of the Weasley boys in here one year for exhaustion because they tried to stay up to see one."

"Fred and George?" Harry guessed, as she summoned a mug of warm milk.

"Yes. Eventually they discovered that they could see as many house elves as they wanted if they went to the kitchens and asked for a snack—incidentally, you should too on occasion, you need some meat on your bones."

Harry nodded, ignoring Snip's _see I told you_ look, described Dobby to Madame Pomfrey at her behest—jumped when she summoned another little house elf and told her about Dobby.

"I want you to keep an eye on Mr. Potter here for the night, and should another house elf come to bother Mr. Potter I want you to detain him, okay Mipsy?" Madame Pomfery asked.

"Yes ma'am!" the little house elf said brightly, saluting.

"Good," Madame Pomfery said, summoning a stool for Mipsy to sit on. "Mr. Potter, I expect you to be asleep again as soon as you finish your milk. Mipsy, make sure he does."

"_Yes ma'am" _came from two different sources—Madame Pomfery nodded and headed back to bed.

Once she was gone, Harry turned his attention to Mipsy.

"You only make the second house elf I've ever met," Harry said. "I was wondering if it was okay if I asked you some questions?"

Mipsy nodded. "Only make sure you finish your milk, Mr. Potter sir."

"I'll do that while you're talking. So…I kind of got a vague idea of what it is house elves do…."

Mipsy was very obliging in describing what the house elves did in Hogwarts, from cooking to cleaning, how certain teams handled certain areas and particular messes, how her specialty was making the fluffiest mashed potatoes and polishing the flagstones in the great hall.

"You do a wonderful job," Harry said when she finished, putting his empty mug to the side. "Absolutely brilliant, thank you—pass on my compliments to the others?"

Mipsy flushed and ducked her head, wringing her ears slightly; the action reminded Harry enough of Dobby to make him ask his next question.

"Um, Mipsy—you wouldn't happen to know _why_ Dobby is doing this?" he asked, explaining some of the things that had happened since he met the elf.

Mipsy was still wringing her ears, this time in consternation instead of embarrassment.

"Dobby is not a Hogwarts house elf, which would be why he would be telling you Mr. Potter sir," she said finally, after much thought. "And the rest of us would have heard something. Dobby must belong to another family, and his behavior would mean that while his family didn't expressly _forbid_ him, they don't _want_ him warning others."

Harry considered. "Is there no way to figure out who his family is?" Mipsy shook her head. "What about freeing him somehow? Is…that not a good thing?" he asked, upon her scandalized expression.

She shook her head. "Being freed is a mark of shame, Mr. Potter sir—it means a house elf did such a terrible job that there is no other choice. We would lose our magic, wither away and die, Mr. Potter sir—the only time a house elf would _welcome_ freedom from their family would be if that family was dreadfully horrid for a long time." Consider. "That would weaken the bonds enough for a house elf to reach out to someone else…but as I said, it would have to be a horrid family."

Maybe that was why Dobby helped him with Uncle Vernon.

"But Mr. Potter should be getting to sleep now, seeing as how you've finished your milk," Mipsy continued, making Harry's glass vanish. Harry nodded, bid her goodnight as he laid back down—

Catapulted upright as the doors banged open, Professor McGonagall calling for Madame Pomfrey.

"Mr. Potter, stay in that bed," Madame Pomfrey said, blowing by him as Professor Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick came in, levitating—

"Mr. Potter sir!" Mipsy yelped as he jumped out of bed and ran over. "Madame Pomfrey said _stay!"_

"Mr. Potter, _please,"_ Professor McGonagall said, stopping him.

"But that's Luna and Colin!" Harry gasped. "What happened? Are they okay?"

"They seem to have suffered the same fate that Mrs. Norris has," Professor Dumbledore said, tugging Luna's Spectro-specs off. "Which means they will recover."

"Mr. Creevey might have taken a picture of his attacker," Professor Flitwick said, pointing out the camera a stunned Colin had held in front of his face.

"That would be very convenient," Professor Dumbledore said, peeling the camera from Colin's frozen fingers and cracking it open. "Alas, this is generally what happens when something would be _too_ convenient."

Harry covered his nose against the stench of burned film.

"Professors?" Harry asked. "Is this…."

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"It seems the Chamber of Secrets is open again after all."


	18. In Which Cauldrons Explode

**Chapter 18, everybody! In which stuff gets exploded….**

**_Technically_, Hermione comes up with the idea for the Polyjuice shortly after Mrs. Norris is attacked, but it struck me as kind of odd that everyone really lost their heads after that one incident, so Hermione starts a little later here. Also did some fudging around with the potions ingredients****—but phosphite _is_ a stabilizing agent in chemistry, from my quick searches on the subject.**

**TroyWeb, thanks for the reviews! Yes, that's a crying shame, that is other house erasure and we should sue. And no problem! I've never been a fan of bash-fics and writing good relationships puts me in a happy place so you'll definitely see more of that. :D YES—and it never occurred to me for anyone to treat him like a dark creature and thinking on how that would go I'm kind of glad. Me too….**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Luna and Colin's attack spread through the school like wildfire—anyone's best guess as to why they were out was a combination of hunting for Luna's shoes, visiting Harry in the hospital wing, and trying to get to the bottom of the mystery.

Neville was distraught, but that was nothing compared to Ginny, who had to go to the hospital wing from a total nervous breakdown. Harry felt terrible too, from a combination of friends being attacked and the idea that they had been on their way to see _him_ when it happened.

It was why he was open to Hermione's proposed idea.

"I'm sorry, _what?"_ Ron asked.

"Polyjuice Potion," Hermione said. "Professor Slughorn was talking about it the other day. We can use it to infiltrate Slytherin and question Malfoy."

"We're sure it's him though?" Harry asked. They had already asked their Slytherin friends, and they seemed dismissive of the concept.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Come on, Harry, he was practically _giddy_ when the Chamber was first opened!"

"And Slytherins all play close to the vest," Hermione said. "He might be doing it and none of them realize."

Snips gave Harry a hard look—which Harry misinterpreted, apparently.

"Fine," he said. "We'll do it. Where's the recipe?"

"Well that's where we hit a little snag…."

The little snag being that the book the potion was in was in the Restricted Section—they debated on whether or not Slughorn would actually sign off on the book on the basis of further reading, decided that securing a signature from Lockhart would require less fuss. Mostly because as Ron pointed out, Lockhart was more than willing to sign anything you handed to him. They had the book in Myrtle's bathroom a day later.

"Those are not encouraging sounds," Ron pointed out after a few minutes of Hermione muttering.

"This is the most difficult potion I've seen," Hermione said, as Harry scooted over to read it—oh those illustrations were horrible. "And some of these ingredients won't be in the student stores—it'll take about a month to brew."

"A _month?_ Half the school will be petrified by then!"

"Well if you have a better plan—"

"We could just off Malfoy."

"_RON."_

Harry sighed, glanced at Snips, back at the book—recalled how horribly empty the extracurricular potions lab felt.

"We'll do it," he announced. "If we come up with a better plan we'll go for it, but right now this is our best bet. Let's do it."

* * *

Stupid. Idiot. Dunderheaded. _Children. _Absolutely no sense at all.

Snips was absolutely certain of three things: one, that he was the best at potions, no questions asked; two, that he knew what a person was thinking when they made eye contact; and three, that Harry Potter and company absolutely could not stay out of trouble. When they weren't being ambushed by it, they were merrily hunting it down, only pausing to pick up a helping of treacle tart on their way.

But of course, trying to tell them this was beyond him, seeing as how they didn't speak in chirps, so he fell back on his usual way of telling them he did not approve at all: nipping Harry on the chin.

"Ow! Sorry, Snips," Harry said, obviously not certain what he did but apologizing anyway. Snips chirped, letting him know that he accepted the apology anyway, and then held on as they ignored him and went and approached this conundrum in the most stupid and reckless way possible.

That is, brewing and ingesting Polyjuice potion. Even worse, _Hermione_ was the one to suggest this, and _she_ was the sensible one!

But at the very least, since they were bound and determined to do this, he'd go along with it and make sure they didn't do it _wrong_—that would just be mean.

But that certainly didn't mean he'd let them get away with it.

* * *

Snips wasn't helping them in Potions class again, which was to be expected. Nor was he willing to help them sabotage Malfoy's cauldron. Ron and Harry had tried very hard to come up with a distraction that would work, and while Ron thought that maybe tossing a firecracker in Malfoy's cauldron would work (he certainly deserved it, after trying to sabotage theirs all their first year), Harry thought that maybe faking an attack would do it.

"I don't think so, mate," Ron said. "You do that, Malfoy will never let you hear the end of it."

Snips _crr_ed at that.

"Careful," Harry told Snips. "If I don't do it, we go with Ron's plan of tossing a firecracker into Malfoy's cauldron."

Snips snipped first Harry's chin and then Ron's chin before flying over to the shelves and rummaging through them.

"What is he doing?" Ron muttered.

"I…have no idea," Harry admitted. "Maybe he decided to help us with our potions again?"

"Is there a problem, boys?"

Harry and Ron yelped as they spun around to see Professor Slughorn standing before them.

"No! No, no professor, why would you think there was a problem?" Ron asked quickly, trying to find a nonchalant pose and failing.

"Well, you both were staring at the shelves—trying to find a way to fix your potions?" Professor Slughorn asked, looking at both their cauldrons. "Harry, perhaps you'd like to have a guess at how to fix yours first?"

"Uh," Harry noised, staring at his potion—if he kept Professor Slughorn's attention, then not only would he not discover Snips, then Hermione might have a chance to sneak into the stores—gah, why hadn't he loaned her his cloak first? "Uh, well…looking…back at my textbook," Harry said, scanning the recipe quickly. "I…think I added too much ground lavender—read 'teaspoon' as 'tablespoon'—"

"A common mistake," Professor Slughorn said. "Remember to always read the recipe carefully."

"Right. And uh…." Come on, he had been studying potions and been working with Mrs. Weasley with those household potions—surely between Snips and her, something would stick! "And uh, that caused my potion to turn this…puce color…."

Ron leaned over and looked. "Oh, that's puce," he said quietly, with the air of someone who had always heard of the color but had no idea what it looked like.

"Right. And…." He glanced up—saw Snips in the rafters with several sprigs of different plants in one of his tiny claws. "And uh…_Better Potions and Tonics_—I read it over the summer—suggests that…when there's too much lavender…wormwood helps to balance it out?"

"Very good!" Professor Slughorn said. "And how much wormwood would you have to add?"

Snips was crumbling up the plants in his claws—Ron glanced to see what he was looking at, but Professor Slughorn must have thought he was wracking his brain. Which, by the way, he was.

"Uh…I added a tablespoon when I should have added a teaspoon…that's…three times the amount I should have…and…you add a quarter teaspoon of wormwood to one teaspoon of lavender, because too much makes the potion bitter, so…three-quarters of a teaspoon?"

"That's absolutely correct!" Professor Slughorn said. "Ten points to Gryffindor for puzzling that out, Harry! You'll find the wormwood on the top shelf there—best get a ladder, or see if someone will help you. Don't climb on the shelves—had a first year do that and it didn't end well. Now Mr. Weasley," Professor Slughorn continued, moving to Ron's cauldron. "Can you tell me how to fix your potion?"

"Uh," Ron noised. "Uh, well, my potion is, uh…what is this color?"

"Teal," Harry said, glancing at it before moving to the shelves, watching Snips frantically—he had drizzled the plants into Malfoy's cauldron while he was watching Professor Slughorn quiz them and had climbed back down to the shelves.

"Teal—okay, and it turned that color after uh, adding the uh, the goshawk talon trimmings, and it was supposed to turn a…clear blue," Ron said, reading out of his recipe book. "So…I might have read it wrong…."

"Teaspoons again?" Malfoy called jeeringly.

Ron's ears turned red.

"Now now, as I said, a common mistake," Professor Slughorn said. "Did you add too much or too little?"

"I think I added too little," Ron muttered.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed at Snips, who had now lifted the lid on a jar and was scooping several handfuls of powder into a leaf. Snips hissed back before bundling up the leaf and scurrying into the rafters again.

"Well that's usually an easy fix," Professor Slughorn said. "But it's been simmering a while, so you need to add a stabilizing agent—what do you add, Mr. Weasley?"

Now Ron's whole face was red as he struggled to think—he had not been as interested in potions as Harry had gotten, preferring more practical spells with immediate results and learning how to fly a broom, and had therefore not poured over his mother's potions books to wind down evenings. "Um…."

Malfoy was laughing, Professor Slughorn looked like he was getting ready to turn around and tell him to hush, and Snips looked like he was about to drop his little bundle into the cauldron—and if that happened, Slughorn would see it and naturally look up and spot Snips. Harry had to do something.

So he shot his hand up.

"Yes, Harry? Did you need help finding the stepladder?"

"Uh, yes sir, but—I think I read that uh, phosphite, is a good stabilizer, sir—I remember because uh, when I was still going to uh, Muggle school, that we covered a little bit of chemistry and—it struck me as kind of odd, that chemistry and potions uses the same stabilizers."

Slughorn nodded, and Malfoy looked like he was about to comment, but at that moment Snips—who had been watching Harry intently—glanced back down, saw Malfoy, and chose that moment to shove his little bundle off the rafter and into Malfoy's cauldron.

The effect was immediate—whatever Snips had been doing to Malfoy's cauldron on the sly caused it to explode mightily, as effective as any firecracker, splashing Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle and quite a few others in the immediate vicinity. Slughorn—who had jumped back in alarm at the sudden noise—quickly rushed forward, performing a vanishing charm on the mess on the floor so he could get to his students.

"My word—I've never seen a potion do that—did someone lob something in here? Nevermind—everyone who was hit with the potion, forward to my desk—I have the antidote handy in case of such accidents, but…never have I seen it go like that…."

Harry stared for the longest time before a sharp nip to his jaw brought his attention sharply back.

"That was brilliant," Harry hissed to Snips, back on his shoulder and in his hiding spot. "I thought you weren't going to help."

Snips turned up his beak, apparently deciding that he was still going to punish Harry by ignoring him.

"Bloody…" Ron breathed, too taken by the carnage to finish his statement.

"Ron!" Harry hissed, snapping his friend back to attention. "Give me a hand here—I can't reach the wormwood and you still need phosphite."

"Right, right," Ron said, wandering back to the shelves while still watching everything. "Snips did that?"

Harry nodded.

"You get first dibs on my supper," Ron whispered to Harry's shoulder, figuring Snips was there. "Whatever you like—choicest cut or whatever. Pumpkin pasties."

Snips clicked his beak at that, but refused to comment further.

But even better—he saw Hermione ducking out of the storeroom and slinking back to her cauldron. She ducked out of sight for a moment—putting the pilfered ingredients into her bookbag, perhaps—before popping back up, glancing around before giving them a discreet thumbs-up, which he returned.

Success.


	19. In Which Rumors Start

**Chapter 19, everybody! It's time to duel!**

**In other news, I love Lockhart's spell in the movie—it literally translates to _fly up_, so it's not a huge surprise that's what the snake did. Harry's opinion in the next paragraph is from an old episode of _America's Funniest Home Videos_—you know the ones with Tom Bergeron?**

**Racethom, thanks for the review! A little bit—and looking up some reconstructions that _is_ kind of how I picture him. Mostly it started with Petrie with some Woodstock added in the mix, so that's kind of either a happy accident or subconscious referencing—but it works. :D**

**Gouravsilentreader, thanks for the review! Thank you, I'm glad you like it, and I hope to update soon as well!**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

No further attacks occurred the next few weeks, which made Harry question the necessity of the Polyjuice Potion—but they were committed, they were moving forward with this no matter what.

Hermione was taking point on the potion, Harry assisting, Snips sitting on his head and supervising everything (and stopping them at critical points when the risk arose), Ron with them and offering emotional support. On this front, at least, everything was going smoothly.

In the rest of the castle, not so much.

People were gathering in groups and gossiping in whispered tones, which in and of itself was not noteworthy—people gossiped all the time. What made him notice these particular times was when they glanced at _him_, although he couldn't fathom why.

"There's a rumor going 'round that _you're_ the Heir of Slytherin," Ross Ambrose told him at the next Slug Club when Harry asked if he had heard anything. "Utter rubbish, in my opinion, even if it does reduce the looks _we've_ been getting—I mean, you're in _Gryffindor."_

Harry nodded—stopped when something occurred to him. "Um…well…I _was_ almost in Slytherin."

Ross—and Ernie MacMillan, who was in the seat on Ross's other side—stopped, stared at him.

"How do you _almost_ be in Slytherin?" Ernie asked.

"Well, the Sorting Hat said I'd be good in there, but I uh, I didn't really want to, you see…."

"Should I be offended?" Ross asked.

"Well, to be fair—I mean I'm not sure how well you know Malfoy—"

"Say no more," Ross said, holding a hand up and going back to his chips.

* * *

The next thing of note was a post on the boards announcing the start of a dueling club, which was something Harry would much rather focus on than potions and rumors.

This was a shared sentiment, as it seemed that most of the school was crowded into the Great Hall on Saturday.

"I wonder who's going to be teaching it," Ron said, better able to see above the crowd than Harry or Hermione. "I heard Flitwick used to duel—just so long as it's not—oh _no…."_

Harry grimaced in agreement at the sight of Professor Lockhart stepping up onto the raised stage in place of the High Table, Professor Flitwick following.

"Can everyone _see_ me? Can everyone _hear_ me? Good good!" Professor Lockhart said, smiling at them. "Now, with all the fuss circulating about the castle—" ("Like we're all bothered over nothing," Ron muttered) "Professor Flitwick and I have organized this little dueling club for those who want to learn how to better defend themselves! Don't worry—I'll make sure you still have a Charms teacher by the end!"

Professor Flitwick was smiling and nodding, but it was the sort of smiling and nodding that didn't match up to what the person was thinking currently—at this point, Harry had the feeling they should be more concerned about not having a Defense teacher by the end of the club.

"Now today we're going to be covering the Disarming Charm!" Professor Flitwick announced, also smiling at the students—a more sincere smile than the one he gave Lockhart. "A wizard's wand is his weapon—take away the wand, and you have effectively stopped your opponent."

"Most of the time," Lockhart said, looking like he was warming up for one of his stories.

"Yes, most of the time," Flitwick said, cutting him off before he could get started. "There are instances of wizards who can easily do wandless magic, but that is very advanced and most of you will probably not be going up against such a character. Thus, the Disarming Charm is a simple but effective spell that will work about ninety-five percent of the time."

"And to demonstrate, we will also be showing you how to conduct yourself in a duel!" Lockhart announced. "First—face your opponent—bow, nice and deep—then turn, pace away—turn again, wand at the ready—_now!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_ Flitwick said, before Lockhart could bring his wand down—Lockhart went flying, as did his wand, which resulted in a clean split on audience opinion.

"Do you think he's all right?" Hermione asked, in the first group.

_"Who cares?"_ Harry and Ron asked, applauding and cementing themselves in the second group.

"Ah—yes—has anyone got my wand? Thank you Perkins," Lockhart said, getting back up to the stage. "Good show, Filius—although I could have stopped it—"

"With a Shield Charm, which we can cover next week," Flitwick said, still with that bland smile.

"Ah yes—yes yes, capital idea—now! Everyone in pairs, practice what we just showed you—_disarm only!"_

Hermione tugged on Harry and Ron's sleeves. "Now's our chance to get the hairs we need from the Slytherins!" she told them. "Pair up with Crabbe and Goyle—I'll see if I can't get Bulstrode."

"Wait," Harry said. "We'll be like…ten feet from each other."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Bold of you to assume they'll play fair."

Which was an unfortunate truth where Malfoy's gang was concerned.

Harry yelped at getting jerked back—ah, so his thoughts had the unfortunate side effect of summoning the person involved.

"You and me, Potter," Malfoy spat. "Right now."

"Uh," Harry noised, eyes flicking to Crabbe and Goyle.

"What, not _scared_, are you?"

Harry's attention immediately snapped back to Malfoy. "You. _Wish."_

Ron nodded, sized up Crabbe and Goyle, settled on Crabbe. "Let's you and me fight."

_"Boys,"_ Hermione muttered, slipping off in search of her target.

Resolving that they'd figure out a way to get to Goyle later, Harry marched with Malfoy to the markers on the floor as everyone separated to their own duels. Match poses, tilt just enough to qualify as a bow—Harry's back was prickling as he marched away—

Self-preservation and a warning chirp from Snips had him ducking as he spun around, dodging the stinging hex Malfoy aimed at him—which hit Terrence Redley from Ravenclaw instead, which prompted him to spin around—

"Disarm—_I said disarm only!"_ Lockhart hollered.

Too late—those who had actually listened were quickly scattering to the walls as those who didn't devolved into a fight—Harry shot Flipendo back at Draco, who countered with a tickling hex—got hit by a jelly-legs jinx—

Professor Flitwick was over and cancelling the spells.

"Five points from each of you, boys," he announced. "Now, try that again, and disarm _only."_

Harry nodded, face flushing—Draco was red too as Flitwick told them to bow more deeply _come now Mr. Malfoy I know you can do better than that—_pace away—

Harry still ducked when he spun around, but he shot a disarming spell at Malfoy this time—and because he did, Malfoy's spell went over his head.

"Very good, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick said brightly. "Mr. Malfoy, on your next attempt aim for the body, it makes for a larger target and still gets the job done. Mr. Potter, try extending a leg when you duck like that, as you were you make it difficult to dodge a second spell…."

Professor Flitwick stood there watching their next several attempts, giving pointers or complimenting where proper, finally drifted away to help the next pair of duelists.

As soon as he did so Harry and Malfoy locked eyes, Malfoy's eyes darting to Flitwick repeatedly—calculating how far away he needed to be for them to resume their first duel. Harry's arm stiffened, ready to disarm him—

Malfoy was a hair faster. _"Serpensortia!"_

Harry dove away, not recognizing the spell—

Rolled up from his tumble to come face to face with a snake.

"Ah!" he squeaked, scuttling backwards—the snake slithered after him.

"_What did we say about disarming spells only!?"_ Flitwick called, hustling over.

"I'll handle it, Filius!" Lockhart called—pointed his wand at the snake. "_Volare acente!"_

_"No wait—"_

Harry's opinion of Lockhart's spell was that it wasn't designed to get _rid_ of the snake, per se, just make it the neighbor's problem.

The snake was understandably upset at being thrown up about fifty feet into the air and then landing hard on the flagstones—it was hissing and spitting, angry and wanting a target—

Shot right at Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"No wait!" Harry yelped, hand outstretched like he could stop it so far away. _"STOP!"_

To everyone's surprise, the snake did indeed screech to a halt—and spun around to look at him with an expression that smacked of _seriously?_

And then the snake was gone, banished properly by Professor Flitwick, who looked at Harry with concern. Actually, everyone was.

"Uh," Harry noised—

Was bodily hauled out of there by Ron, Hermione hot on their heels.

"Wait—wait, where are we going?" Harry asked, the Great Hall exploding with voices behind them.

Ron didn't answer until they were in an empty classroom.

"You're a parslemouth!"

Harry blinked, not quite sure if he was being insulted or not. "I'm a _what?"_

"Parslemouth!" Ron repeated, throwing his hands up. "You can talk to snakes!"

"Oh," Harry noised. "Okay…."

_"What do you mean 'okay' HARRY—"_

"I mean it's not like it's a surprise!" Harry protested. "I talked to a boa constrictor at the zoo once! I bet loads of wizards can do it!"

"You talked—I can't Hermione talk to him."

Hermione waved Ron off as he paced away, a hand to his head. "Being a parsletongue is a rare gift Harry—and, um, not one associated with good wizards."

Harry felt some of the blood drain from his face. "Uh…h-how bad is…."

"You-Know-Who. Salazar Slytherin—it's why the house symbol is a snake."

"And then—" Ron said, pacing back to them. "And then you _do that_ right in front of the whole school! Everyone's going to think you're like his great-great grandkid or something!"

"But I stopped the snake from attacking Justin!" Harry protested. "That's got to count for _something,_ doesn't it?"

"Is that what you told it?" Ron asked. "All I heard was a bunch of hissing."

"It kind of sounded like you were egging it on," Hermione said gingerly. "And with everything going on…."

Harry barely registered Snips patting his cheek. "I'm doomed, aren't I?"

Ron put a hand on his shoulder, nodded sagely. "Yes."

* * *

Ron was not exaggerating—by Sunday breakfast, everyone knew that one Harry Potter was a parseltongue. By Sunday lunch, everyone had an opinion on it.

By Monday morning, Harry was wondering on the efficacy of wearing his Invisibility cloak everywhere.

It didn't help that literally _everyone_ was side-eyeing him—even Lockhart had cooled off considerably. And if the Quidditch team talked about him, it was usually to refer to him as _the seeker_. And let's not get started on how the other students were treating him.

So he wasn't _entirely _surprised when Fergus pinned him (not physically, fortunately) in the hall one day, followed by Fred and George.

"I'm having a need to get to the bottom of the rumors circulating," Fergus told him. "What's this I hear about _you_ being the Heir of Slytherin?"

"I'm not," Harry insisted. "I'm not even _in_ Slytherin."

"Ah, but I heard from Ross you almost were—day after dueling club he says _no wonder the hat wanted to put him in Slytherin."_

"Ah, but think about it," Fred said, a hand up—Harry had been hoping they were hovering around to keep Fergus from possibly doing something untoward. "If the Heir of Slytherin were _in_ Slytherin, it would be too obvious."

"And the best way to avoid suspicion would to be in another house," George added.

"And not just any house—"

"The house Slytherins despise above all."

"A double-reverse—well-played, Harry, very cunning."

"That is, actually," Fergus agreed.

"But I'm not the Heir of Slytherin," Harry protested.

"Good Harry, keep insisting on innocence—that's key to pulling off a good scheme," Fred said, giving him a thumbs-up.

"And if you let anyone else in on it, make sure you've all got your stories straight," George added. "I mean it's all right for us, being quintuplets we've got that innate sense of what the others are doing, but still."

"Very true," Fergus agreed, handing Harry a small bag. "So this is for you—"

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Your cut—I _might_ be selling charms and such protecting people from you. Also, here's a list, if you could avoid these people that'd be _great_—really sell it. Thanks Harry!"

"We really need to get Donald talking to that man," Fred said.

"Yes," George agreed. "Possibly to hire him—he's going places." Noticed Harry's expression. "Oh come off it, Harry—_we_ don't think you're really the heir."

"And if you keep taking it so seriously you're just going to make yourself sick."

"Hence us doing our best to get your mind off of things—"

"And view this as the joke it really is."

That _would_ explain why they kept making a point to run in front of him in the halls going _make way for the Heir of Slytherin!_

"I do want to know more about this boa constrictor you chatted up though," George added.

"You know how you talk to things to get your mind off of something else?" Harry asked. "It was like that—I just wasn't expecting it to talk _back."_

"Yes, that always is a shock."

"It is," Fred said, before looking at the nearby vase. "Don't you agree?"

_"It's why myself and the podium I'm sitting on has a permanent sticking charm now,"_ the vase responded.

Reflecting on it, Harry wasn't entirely certain why a talking vase surprised him. After all, it _was_ Hogwarts.


	20. In Which Breakdowns and Fights Happen

**Chapter 20, everybody! What a nice number.**

**Okay, so this sat for a long time because I wasn't sure how to proceed, and thinking on it had me wondering how a twelve-year-old took everything so stoically, which led to the chapter finally getting finished. It was also a nice way for me to process my opinions on some of the things saturating the news right now (and some of my old campus college experiences), so good things—except for Harry someone hug this poor boy. :(**

**TroyWeb, thanks for the reviews! Snips definitely needs his own theme music. And ooh yes, that would be good….**

**Thanks for the review, duj, glad you like it! :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Harry's social experiences did not improve as the week wore on. Nor did it improve during the week after. Or the week after that—he finally did resort to wearing his invisibility cloak while in the library, which left Ron and Hermione a little frustrated at basically talking to thin air.

Hermione in particular thought he was being very silly.

"Honestly, Harry, hiding from everyone is only going to make it worse."

"Kind of have to agree," Ron said, not looking up from his Astronomy homework. "If people don't see you they might think you're off in the chamber plotting with your snake buddies."

"Being the focus of all that negative attention is just draining, all right?" Harry sighed—glanced at Snips huffing. "Don't you start."

"I mean I do get it—it's why we're going forward with this whole Polyjuice thing. When will that be ready?"

"Right in time for Christmas break," Hermione said. "It'll be perfect—almost everyone's going home so there'll be less people to question us while we're in disguise."

"I'm still not sold on essence of—Neville."

Neville had not been in the running for this, which alerted Harry to the fact that Neville had come over, still looking dour.

"Would you like to sit with us, Neville? Right there's free," Hermione said, pointing to a chair.

"Thanks," Neville said, sitting down. "Where's Harry?"

"Harry's currently hiding from the angry mob thinking he's the heir," Ron supplied.

"Oh. I mean I guess I would too." Blink. "Where, though? I just came from our dorm."

"Right here, Neville," Harry said, pushing the invisibility cloak off a little. "I was just getting really tired of the stares."

"I guess I can get that," Neville said—took a deep breath, obviously bracing himself. "And I don't think you did it, Harry—Luna and Colin are our friends."

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, stuffing the invisibility cloak in his bag. "It's just frustrating—for everyone who _does_ believe me it's like there's two that don't, and those people are just—really open about glaring."

"It's not _that bad,_ Harry," Hermione stressed.

In response, Harry pulled out the list that Fergus had given him.

"What is this?" Hermione asked, looking it over.

"A list of people Fergus MacDougall asked me to avoid," Harry said, aware that his neck was pinking. "Because they bought charms to ward against _me."_

Ron snitched the paper, scanned it—"Justin Finch-Fletchley! What—of course he did, he still figures you set that snake on him."

"What are you going to do, Harry?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged. "I really don't know—if I confront anyone on this, they'll just see it as guilt."

"Well you hiding could be construed as guilty as well," Hermione said, snapping a book shut. "I say we approach this proactively—I saw Ernie MacMillan in here earlier, we can talk to him about talking to Justin."

Talking to Ernie was a bit awkward, considering he was in a study group.

"What's _he_ doing here?" one of the other students asked, indicating Harry. "Doesn't he have a monster to go consort with?"

"L-leave him alone!" Neville said, fists balling. "Harry isn't the heir, and he certainly wouldn't attack his friends! He's not even _in_ Slytherin!"

"See, that was _my_ point," one of the girls said.

"He was _almost_ a Slytherin," the first student insisted.

"Oi—lay off, the lot of you," Ernie said, closing his book and standing up. "Let's go talk over here," he told the second-years.

"Careful, Ern, you might be next!"

"Before you comment, I shared that before the whole thing with the snake, and you didn't give me the impression you wanted it kept secret," Ernie told Harry once they were out of earshot.

"I was almost in Ravenclaw," Hermione piped up. "I don't see what the big deal about _almost_ is."

"You can't talk to eagles, if you want a straight comparison."

"That we know of," Ron pointed out.

"That's true." Ernie turned back to Harry. "And I don't see it—not with Luna and Colin. So what did you want, Harry? If it's talking people down I've been trying that."

"It's about Justin," Harry started.

"I can't get him to agree to a face-to-face, Harry."

"Then can you at least tell him that I was telling the snake to _stop_? I didn't even realize I was speaking some other language until Ron and Hermione told me."

Ernie had a blank look now. "How can you speak a different language without realizing it?"

Harry didn't know and said so.

"But you can at least talk to Justin, right?" he asked.

"I'll see what I can do."

That was the most Harry could ask of him, honestly, and he spent the next couple of days at least _trying_ to go about his day without hiding underneath the invisibility cloak. As Ron and Hermione insisted, _not_ being seen was more suspicious than _being_ seen.

But at least _not_ being seen had the added benefit of _not_ being glared at, of _not_ being yelled at, of _not_ being badgered and heckled and all but hexed and punched no matter _how_ many times teachers came down on the offending students. It was really a lot to ask of a twelve-year-old, and it was getting to the point that he was pretty sure he was approaching something resembling a total nervous breakdown.

Having someone—at Gryffindor table, at that—hex his dinner to explode all over him was what got him there. Dripping soup, trying to keep from crying—at least with the Dursleys he had been able to get _away_ from them—here there was always _someone_ glaring at him and he had finally reached the end of his rope and he was _not_ going to start sobbing he was _not_—

Fred and George ran in from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, tackling someone with the help of Lee Jordan, all of them yelling—Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff rushed the table, not sure _what_ was going on but seeing their colors attacking Gryffindor and everyone was super-tense and Fred and George tackling whoever was the straw that broke the camel's back—Ron and Hermione tried to get him out of there but someone grabbed Ron and then Neville jumped on whoever had Ron and the Slytherin table was cheering on the chaos—

Once again, Dumbledore employed volume to restore order—pretty impressive volume held at length, to cut across the noise bouncing around the hall and the ringing in Harry's ears.

"Everyone who was injured, to the hospital wing," Dumbledore ordered. "Everyone else, to their dorms. Tomorrow your respective heads of houses will assign detentions and deduct points as they see fit."

"Come on, Harry," Hermione said, tugging on his arm gently. "We'll go get you cleaned up—"

Someone elbowed Harry hard in the back, which set off the whole fight again for another two minutes before the adults could restore order. Dumbledore had to finally resort to an _immobulus_ charm, which left Harry half-picking himself up until he dispelled the charm a few minutes later.

"'Ere now 'arry, up yeh get," Hagrid said, having effectively waded through the fighting kids and hauling him upright. "Jus' a spill, don' fret—"

"I'm—" He couldn't get the lie out—Hogwarts had gone from warm and welcoming to openly hostile and he couldn't bring himself to handle being the concentrated focus of so much ire.

"Don't worry, Harry, we'll escort you back to the dorm," Fred said, coming around Hagrid's side. Snips was riding on his shoulder, flitted to Harry's, started chittering.

"Let those lions know we know where they live," George said. "And the veggie-pusher just about ate up Cormac's nose, that was impressive."

"You worry me, to be fair," Fred said to Snips.

"You ridiculous lot—prefects, escort this group to the dorm!" McGonagall called, moving her arm in a large circle to indicate them. "Hagrid, could you go with them? As for the rest of you I am _ashamed_ of you—"

Hagrid ushered them out, Harry dimly hearing Slughorn telling the other heads of houses he'd be sending up calming droughts to their houses later, some of the kids might need them—

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, keeping a hand on his arm.

"No," he answered thickly. Looked up morosely at his friends—noted the state of Ron's face. "Ron, shouldn't you be—"

"I'll go tomorrow," Ron said.

"Or maybe we'll have to lean on Gred and Forge to patch you up—they're good for that," Fred offered.

"If you trust them to do it, that is," George added.

"I trust Fred and George more than Donald," Ron said dully.

"That's true—shame on Donald, not jumping in."

"It'll be fine, Harry," Hermione assured him. "They'll find out who's been doing this and everything will calm back down."

Considering they ran into Justin, Ernie, and Nearly-Headless Nick—all petrified—on the way back up to the dorm, Harry very much doubted it.


	21. In Which Harry Gets Counseled

**Chapter 21, everybody! Got a good head of steam going on this, so we'll be having updates for the next couple of weeks (all right!).**

**Real talk, the beginning of the chapter with Dumbledore is based heavily on Saphroneth's work—go check out ****_Harry Is A Dragon, And That's Okay_**** if you haven't already. It's amazing what happens when you inject some common sense into the series….Also, as I've learned, a jammy dodger is a jam-filled cookie—it's also the name of a boat on ****_Flushed Away. _****:D**

**And Myrtle's last name is ****_Warren_****why did I think it was Edmunds?...**

**And again, these chapters are me processing all the political BS flying around this year…2020 has been a trip, hasn't it?**

**TroyWeb, thanks for the review! HP D&D—I want in. :D Dangit, Donald!**

**FaolenBookWolf, thanks for the review! Me too….**

**Thanks for the review, guest! Thank you, I'm glad you like it! :D**

**Harry Potter © JK Rowling**

Harry spent the entirety of his time not in class under his invisibility cloak after that.

Despite it being obvious he couldn't have done it, since everyone had seen him at dinner when it happened, there was still a heavily vocal group who circulated that it made sense that Justin got attacked, and Ernie had been singled out by Harry in the library, and Harry just had a legitimately awful time after that—to the point that when he was called into the headmaster's office, he figured it was to get expelled.

Dumbledore's bird catching on fire really cemented that feeling.

"Ah, Harry—"

"Professor!" Harry blurted, panicking at the sight of Dumbledore coming down the steps. "I didn't—I couldn't—he just—caught fire—"

"Yes, about time too, he's been looking dreadful for _days_—ah," he noised, seeing Harry's confusion. "Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry—come here, have a look—see?" he asked, indicating the wrinkly little head poking out of the ashes. "Marvelous creatures, phoenixes—their tears have healing powers, they can lift burdens vastly greater than they weigh, and when they die they burst into flame and are reborn from the ashes. Incidentally, you should come back a few days later—phoenixes grow up quickly, but for about three or four days he's rather adorable with his fluff. Alas, this is not the reason I summoned you here."

Harry's heart sunk at that. "Please, professor, don't expel me—I didn't attack anyone—I'm not the heir!"

"My dear boy," Dumbledore said, handing him a cup of tea. "I have a list of suspects as to this Heir of Slytherin business, and it might disappoint you to know that you did not make the list. No, I called you up here because it's come to my attention that—out of all of us—this unfortunate year has been weighing on you quite heavily." He indicated a seat for Harry, took one of his own. "I understand that Muggle schools employ counseling when their students get stressed, and I was wondering if this would work as well for Hogwarts. You just happened to get one of the first slots, although I must apologize for experimenting on you—this is new for me as well."

"Sir?" Harry noised, a little confused.

"Our lovely Muggle Studies professor was nice enough to write down what to do, although the main point she told me to focus on was to create a safe, calming space." At that, Dumbledore looked up from the parchment he was consulting and took in the room. "Although between the state of the various devices and you catching Fawkes on a burning day, I feel like I might be failing in that regard."

"You're doing fine, sir," Harry assured him—hesitated. "So I'm…not expelled?"

"No, Harry, I've not found a reason to do so, and considering your grades, your track record, and the lack of complaint from your teachers I doubt I will find one, barring some tremendous act that breaks several dozen school rules," Dumbledore said, consulting the parchment again. "Considering Fred and George Weasley's current record is twenty-seven and they're still attending, you would have to come up with something rather earth-shaking indeed."

"Oh," Harry noised, feeling faint from relief.

"Yes, unfortunately when people are afraid, they seek out scapegoats—I wish I could tell you that this is an infrequent occurrence, but alas this is not so. I might recommend you avoid a career in politics if this isn't to your fancy."

Harry nodded, finally sipped at his tea.

"Hmm, I will have to ask Professor Burbage for more information on this," Dumbledore muttered after a few minutes. "I confess the school of psychology wasn't what it is today when I went to school. But I must also confess that _most_ fields weren't the same today as when I went to school," he confided, smiling at Harry with twinkling eyes. Harry couldn't help the smile. "Ah good, Harry—you're much too young to be bearing the world on your shoulders. It's why older people tend to be stooped-backed. This, I think, will have to be brought up at the next teacher's meeting," he decided, putting the paper to the side. "Although it gives us two options for conversation: we either address whatever's bothering you, or we studiously avoid such topics and instead discuss things as to decompress. Your choice, Harry."

There was a _lot_ bothering him, but just thinking about it was enough to make a cold sweat start up his back. "If it's all the same to you, professor, I'd rather avoid the topics."

"Very well, Harry—have you tried the biscuits yet? The jammy dodgers are strawberry-flavored," he offered, holding the plate out for Harry to sample. "They're my new addiction, although I suppose I could have worse. Incidentally, did anything come of the tapestry on the fifth floor?"

Harry reported that they had yet to find anything, but that Neville had found a fake wall by accident one day (he had sagged against it only to find it wouldn't support his weight). Dumbledore nodded, lamented the fact that this whole year had been a poor one for extracurricular exploration, asked if he had been enjoying his classes this year.

"Um, all except Defense," Harry confided. "I'm not really sure what we're learning. And History, but…."

Dumbledore nodded. "History is a lot less dull when you're in the middle of making it, but even then I find I still get the dates mixed up."

Harry did feel a lot better when Dumbledore finally thought he had taken up enough of his time and told him so on the way back to the dorm.

"Ah, so this might work after all," Dumbledore said brightly. "I shall have to inform the other teachers so we can set up schedules."

Harry nodded, hesitated. "Um, sir? What do I do, about the other students?"

"A very difficult question, Harry, very difficult—oftentimes facing down an angry mob is nothing less than terrifying, for trying to counter them is you wasting your breath, not answering them is cowardice, and trying to fight back puts _you_ in the wrong. Desperately tricky no matter the age." Silence as he pondered this. "I would say it's best to face it with your head held high, but I must also confess that it's been a very long time since I've been twelve. If you need to retreat to gather yourself, then I recommend you do so. I'm sure if you ask a teacher nicely, you can duck in while they grade papers."

Harry wasn't sure about that, but thanked him anyway before going into the dorm room—and then ducking his head as he went to the corner where Ron and Hermione were.

"It's okay," she assured him. "Just a few more weeks, then we can get to the bottom of all this."

"I can't wait," Ron said fervently before standing and shaking his fist. "OI! You don't got something better to do!? I'll take ALL of you on!"

"Me too!" Neville shot.

"We've lost enough house points, everyone focus on your homework," Percy said loudly. When nobody moved: "I have spent most of my life in the company of Fred and George Weasley—you will not survive an altercation with me."

Everyone went back to their studies.

"Now why did it work for you and not me?" Ron demanded of Percy. "I've spent my entire _life_ with Fred and George!"

Percy's expression was smug as he rubbed his prefect badge. "You have to have one of these, Ron."

* * *

Harry considered his options the next morning, finally consulted Snips.

"What do you think?" he asked the little…thing. "Go without the invisibility cloak and try to take the high road, or stick with the current plan?"

Snips pondered it for a few beats before tugging an edge of the invisibility cloak over.

"That's what I though too."

Harry _did_ take Dumbledore's advice though, insofar as sticking his head into an available teacher's office and asking if he could study in there worked. This had the added bonus of having someone knowledgeable available if he had questions, and he was pretty sure it also doubled as them ruling him out as the heir.

With teachers like Flitwick and Slughorn, this also came with the addition of biscuits and tea, so the only downside Harry had found thus far was that he wasn't spending time with his friends.

"This business is absolutely dreadful," Slughorn lamented one day, pausing in his paper-grading to drink some tea. "I remember the last time the Chamber opened—had to be a good fifty years ago now—as terrifying then as it is now."

"I think Hagrid told me something about that," Harry said. "I think he said someone died?"

"Yes, dreadful business—Myrtle Warren, she was terribly picked on back then—she was hiding in a bathroom stall after one of her classmates teased her for her glasses when the monster got her." Pause, as though drawing a correlation between her and Harry. "Ah—Harry, promise me you won't go skulking off in the castle by yourself."

"I won't, professor," Harry assured him, thinking that that hadn't been helping people but understanding his concern. "And um—I know this sounds kind of…odd…but please don't tell Professor Lockhart I did my homework in your office."

It was a request he had been making of all the teachers, and every time he got the same response: a nod and an understanding noise.

"I don't understand it," Slughorn sighed. "I _remember_ teaching Gilderoy—dab hand at Charms, but not Defense—I suppose he must have been a late bloomer."

Harry didn't know enough to say for certain and decided to help himself to another biscuit instead.

But finally—_finally_—Christmas break was upon them. The castle was all-but deserted thanks to the recent attacks (a ghost being affected had spooked everyone, no pun intended), and it meant that Harry was once again a free man.

"Good to see you again, Harry!" George said on the first day of break.

"Hello George, hello Fred," Harry greeted. "You two are staying over the holidays too?"

"Showing solidarity for our fellow Weasleys," Fred said, a hand to his chest. "Although I don't know about Edmund, Hubert, or Donald."

"Donald probably went to visit Bill with Mum and Dad," George said pensively. "That bloke won't miss a chance to learn a new curse."

"Hubert would probably go because Hufflepuffs find things—"

"And Edmund wouldn't pass up the opportunity to learn something new."

"_So it's just the two of us,"_ Fred and George agreed.

"Eventually they'll realize they have other siblings," Ron offered, patting a spot on the rug and offering a toasted marshmallow on a stick.

"Ah, right," Fred said, pointing. "Ickle Ronniekins."

"And Percy's staying for teacher solidarity," George mused as Harry sat down, Snips flitting down to his knee. "Although I don't know what Ginny's reason is—we _told_ her getting away from the castle would be good for her."

"We also told her the mummies would come to life."

"That might be it."

"It might also be that she didn't want to ride the train by herself," Percy said, flicking them both in the back of the head before settling in an ottoman by the window, where thick flakes of snow drifted by. "You'll have to ask her when she comes down."

That settled, they turned back to toasting breakfast (Fred and George had procured the food from _somewhere_—Harry suspected House Elves), letting Ginny and Hermione into their little circle and giving Percy a sausage on a stick to nibble on while he read.

In all, very cozy, and for the first time in over a month Harry finally felt that nasty tangled ball in his chest ease.

For now, at least, things were going well.


End file.
